'Twas the day after Christmas and all through the house, happiness reigned. The year was 1968 and as usual I was busy with clients on the phone, when suddenly, a headache, like I've never had before, struck me. I went upstairs to lie down and rest with my young son watching over me. Then to the hospital I went and my life to heaven, for I died, to awake with new purpose and intent.
I wish I could delete the moments where I ever felt "old" because to think that now is just stupid. I saw the number 24 written on the cover of a book while on the train, and clearly thought these three things -- I am older than that number. I have not read that book. There is so much I have yet to do.
What really matters most to me today is not my mission, but my family. Because that's probably true for all of us every day, the mission matters all the more. The mission is to add years to life, and life to years. When the lives and years belong to someone we love, it's the most important thing in the world.
I am always amazed when I am invited for a party or homemade meal during the holidays. Out come beautiful Christmas plates. We have a set, inherited from my in-laws when they moved out of their New Jersey home 12 years ago. I either forget. Or convince myself I don't have room for them to be out. Or can't remember where they are. Or. Or. Or.