At some point, I started to give some serious consideration to dying. I don’t mean that I’m planning to rush the process, only that I realize I’m more than half the age my mom was when she died. I most likely don’t have the same expiry date, but it still makes me think.

Time once seemed to stretch endlessly before me to a destination that was impossible to contemplate, never mind see. While I still don’t see a finish line, the years have made me acutely aware that this road isn’t infinite.

I’ve been thinking about what I want to say to people before I go. Things like, “Learn how to drive, $@%^!”

Just kidding.

Mostly, I worry about the things I want to tell my child: things I might not get out properly because I’m better at writing than speaking, things he might not really hear because a lot of us always think there’ll be more time to listen, more time for hugs, more time for everything.

So, I’m going to write them here as they come to mind.


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