Inspired by Billy Collins' Poem "Days"

“Each one is a gift, no doubt,

Mysteriously placed in your waking hand

Or set upon your forehead

Moments before you open your eyes.”

Those are the opening lines of “Days” by Billy Collins 

Days… How many days do we get? How many do we need?  No day is promised.  There are no entitlements. And no rhyme or reason why some people are handed such difficult days in their lives and others seem to breeze through, untouched by tragedy.

I sat in Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse in Boca Raton, Florida, with the 10 of us that comprise our immediate extended family.  We were celebrating my father-in-law’s soon to be 90^th birthday.  It was a lovely dinner of filet mignon and shrimp, the celebratory meal my in-laws had planned, bringing everyone to this table to rejoice in this occasion.  We were all so happy to be together and share in this momentous milestone.

I happened to glance at my phone at the end of dessert, probably to see the time, since I wasn’t interested in my phone really – when I saw that I had a missed call from Bill and Karla.  It definitely had to do with Barbara, of course.  I was sure. Something awful must have happened.  But then maybe they were planning a surprise for Barbara. Maybe that was it.  I didn’t want to leave the table. And yet I couldn’t sit there.  I had to find out. There was no cell service in the restaurant and it looked like they hadn’t left a voicemail. I decided to leave the table and go outside where it was insanely windy.  I chose to call Karla instead of Bill, since I was afraid to hear news from Bill. 

We all thought Barbara had more days.  A year, maybe? Maybe 2?  Barbara and I had just been texting about making plans the very day before. Barbara texted to say she would need to pass on the upcoming plans.  In a week she would be beginning a new treatment for the glioblastoma.

Barbara was supposed to have a lot more days.  And I planned on having a lot more days to drive her to her treatments and to spend quality time with her.  I had been busy this past fall and could only manage an occasional day here and there to help out. I thought she had more time, and I thought I had more time to be a better friend.

I think of Barbara so often now.  We weren’t best friends but we had been colleagues at the middle school for years and years.  We had been to many events together, and she had come to my daughter’s plays and Sweet 16.

We can’t control how many days we get, but we can intentionally live each day– finding the joy, embracing our people, honoring the earth and our breath – and making sure we live with as little regret as possible.