When my dad was my age, he was dying of brain cancer. He had two little kids, just like me. I don't feel afraid of death, and he didn't either, but I'm sure he felt wrenching pain when he thought about leaving us and our sweet Mama. He lived really well, and my childhood memories of him before and during his illness are very sweet.
I've been struggling to be as patient as I should be with my boys. Life is busy and stressful at our house much of the time. I get worn out, frustrated and tired. Sometimes in weak moments, I take it out on them.
I bet if I knew I was dying, I wouldn't.
Isn't it strange that some of our toughest days are mixed right in with our happiest ones? I don't want to miss my best moments of my life because I didn't give them the attention or appreciation they deserved.
