As He Lays Dying

Thoughts on Borrowed Time

I’m writing this from the North Carolina coast, where my father-in-law, Johnnie, navigates through his last days. The hospice nurse said it could be hours or days when she finished her visit and added, “The spirit can make its demands on the body, but the body has the final word.”

After the nurse left, Matt and I walked to the dock with his sister and brother, and I listened as they reminisced about their lives together. My sister-in-law snapped this picture at (another kind of) sunset, then we went back to Johnnie’s to support him in a transition he does not welcome.

Me with Matt on the sound at Emerald Isle, North Carolina

Despite his 92 years on the planet, Johnnie still has things he wants to do. This was evidenced a couple of nights ago when he woke with the night nurse and told her he wanted to go to the ocean. She gently mentioned that his legs wouldn’t carry him that far, so he told her he didn’t like her and that he would just go out the window. She responded by increasing his dose of Halcion.

Johnnie has always loved the water, and served in the Navy during the Korean conflict. He met his wife at a USO dance during the war, and they continued dancing together until she passed in 2009. Last night at his bedside, his children played his favorite songs, including the Tennessee Waltz, which had been their parents’ favorite dance number.

Everything is borrowed time

Life is short, friends. Even if you make it to 92 you can’t do everything. Johnnie still wants one more glimpse of the shore. Just one more.

The longer I live, the more I realize the importance of sticking to my priorities among infinite contenders. Some priorities come unbidden, like sitting at a deathbed, but if you have ever “killed time” scrolling through a social feed, that’s a choice that precludes finishing your watercolor-in-progress or picking up the phone to call your mother. I need to remind myself of this. I did so today as I chose to spend time writing this newsletter. It’s a priority.

Four Thousand Weeks

As it happens, I’m reading a book about managing time so that you can pack the most meaningful living into it. Author Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, reminds us that everything is on borrowed time, and our greatest challenge is learning to set priorities by letting go of FOMO.¹

The title of the book refers to the number of weeks you will live if you make it to 80 years of age. The thought of how many I’d already used drove me to the calculator for the stark realization that I have fewer than 1000 left. Sure, I might make it to 92 like Johnnie, or I might make it to 79; the point remains.

Getting comfortable with focusing on what’s truly of greatest consequence

It’s funny to think about your life being at stake, but it is. Every day.

Let’s talk about this

I’ve traveled a good deal, and while I have many more places I’d like to see, cultures I’d like to immerse myself in, and vistas I’d like to photograph, I am reminding myself that if I don’t write about my experiences and lessons learned I’ve just been entertaining myself. I’m committed to writing this Substack and The 981 Project. I’m committed to turning my 100+ articles and essays into a collection. I’m committed to finishing my book, Back to Ohio, and to publishing a novel.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on living and dying. On how you’d like to spend the rest of your allotted days, and what you’re letting go of so that you can live your most meaningful/impactful/joyful life.

Memento Mori, Memento Vivere: Remember that you must die, so remember that you must live.

1. Fear of Missing Out