What to do if you might live next Tuesday: another list

After my last post, I also got to thinking there are lots of things I can be looking forward to when I wake up from surgery. So, here's my list for that!

• Being alive.
• After-drugs. What colourful pharmaceutical adventures await me???
• Binge watching Netflix guilt-free.
• Sleeping in. On a Thursday. Maybe on TWO Thursdays. 
• Ooh and naps! Afternoon naps!
• I will be several ounces lighter than when I went in for surgery. Possibly pounds if they have to remove more than they expect. 
• Wearing pajamas, yoga pants and other not-safe-for-work bottoms EVERY DAY!
• I will get to keep working with my AMAZING clients who are doing and being AMAZING. Have I mentioned how AMAZING they are?! 
• I will eventually be back at work with my AWESOME team to do AWESOME stuff. Mwhahahahaaa!
• Experiencing the beauty of spring in the country, and then summer (flax fields!), and then fall...
• I'll get to keep cheering on my American sisters and brothers as they rise and unite in love and decency to overcome the hatefulness, bigotry, misogyny and fear that is being stoked by the decoy-Trump and REAL-scary-man-Pence in their nation.
• More SNL sketches. 
• I might treat myself to a new pair of rubber boots.
• Marc and I will get to celebrate our 10th wedding/15th dating anniversary. 
• I'll get to see my sister-in-law signed to a label (come ON, Universe!)
• Goat-sharing with our neighbours. 
• All of the coffee. All of the cheese. All of the wine. 
• Maybe adopt another dog. Maybe. 
• Start teaching/leading meditation classes.
• More travel. 
• More star-gazing. 
• And, I'll get to watch this kid become even more herself.

In love and light,

Jilly

What to do if you might die next Tuesday: a list

My surgery is scheduled for next Tuesday. There is a small but very real risk that I may not wake up from the anesthetic, or there may be other complications that cause me to die on the operating table.

Small, but real. 

So, I've thought about how I want to spend my last few days, if that's what they end up being. 

Here's my list, in no particular order; I do hope it won't be my last. 

• Get my taxes in order. I mean, that stuff is just a royal pain at the best of times, so I don't want to leave a complete mess for Marc to figure out. And, I'll need to get them together anyway and I probably won't feel like it when I'm recovering, so...I'll just do it.
• Love my kid. Spend as much time with her as possible doing ordinary and mundane and magical things. Have breakfast in bed; watch a movie; make a snowperson; throw the ball for Morris; walk in the country; create art; read stories; whisper in the darkness; look at the moon and stars; eat ice cream; laugh and hug and cry and snuggle and watch her sleep. I told her this morning that there is a chance something could go wrong during surgery. "And then I won't have a mom," she said, matter-of-factly. I'll still be your mom, I told her, I just won't be in my body anymore. And you'll be alright, kiddo. You'll have daddy and your aunts and uncles and cousins and friends. "I know mom. Do you need a hug?" This child. 
• Finalize my celebration of life plans. Hint: buy or polish up your most fun pair of rubber boots! 
• Create videos for my loved ones. Attempt to boil down all the life lessons I want to pass along to Chloe, and parenting and partnership thoughts for Marc, and gratitude for my family and extended family and friends. 
• Drink some good wine. 
• Give Morris belly rubs and soak up his doggy-goodness. 
• Sit in the sunlight and the moonlight and wonder at the magic and chaos and randomness of it all.
• Connect with Marc and say the things that need to be said. Reminisce about the amazing life we've built and shared. 
• Make soup. Red lentil coconut. Italian peasant. Miso ginger noodle with crisp winter vegetables. Then my family will be nourished by my love, and if I survive, I'll have lots of healthy food for recovery. Win win. 
• Listen to all my favourite songs. Like this. And this. And this. And this. And this. And this. 
• Deliver Chloe to her grandparents' to have a sleepover with her cousins. Hug and kiss her more. Never let go.
• Drop the dog off at the kennel.
• Drive to the hospital. 
• Count backwards from 10...9...8...

See you on the flipside!

With love and light,

Jilly