I am sitting here crying my eyes out for Will, the poor little 13-year-old son of Dana and Christopher Reeve. Maybe it’s because what’s happened to him is my deepest fear: that something will happen to me and that my son, who’s already lost one parent to death, will be left alone.
No doubt all of us pray that this will never happen to our children; it’s almost unimaginable these days to think that a child can be orphaned. Unimaginable and yet, if we’ve been widowed, we know that a young parent of a young child can die; so what’s to stop it from happening to us too?
Still, widowed people don’t go through our lives thinking about this every minute of every day. If we did, we’d never get behind the wheel of a car.
In fact, after awhile – and I can’t even believe I’m saying this, because I never thought I could ever say it again – we become almost like everyone else: we start to believe that early death only happens to other people. I think that, deep down, I almost feel a certain immunity from it: after all, what are the odds of both my son’s parents dying while he’s young?
All of this is just to explain why I’m sobbing about Will Reeve. It’s the shock of realizing – again – that young parents do die, and that even both young parents can die. Will and Dana could just as easily have been my son and me, but for the luck of the draw.
It’s ironic because just the other day, I was thinking about how important it is to never make the mistake of thinking that the people we love, and who love us, will always be with us.
While no one consciously thinks this, we often act this way. We act this way when we put off calling a brother or aunt or friend whom we haven’t talked to in awhile. We act this way when we don’t thank God every day for the blessings of our children. We act this way when there’s a rift in our family and we wait for things to change.
I was thinking all of these things, but somehow I “forgot” to think the opposite: that I won’t always be here either, that I may be the one leaving the people I love behind.
I’m thinking it now, though, because of Dana Reeve’s death. It reminds me that today could be the last day on this earth for me or for any of us.
That’s exactly what the Tim McGraw song, “Live Like You Were Dying,” is about. The lyrics tell the story of how a dying man decided to live what was left of his life. Just like Dana Reeve’s death, this song reminds me never to assume that I have all the time in the world.
Here’s an excerpt from the song to remind you too.
*****
And he said
I went sky diving
I went Rocky Mountain climbing
I went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Fu Manchu
and I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter
and I gave forgiveness I’d been denying
and he said someday I hope you get the chance
to live like you were dying.
He said I was finally the husband
that most the time I wasn’t
and I became a friend a friend would like to have
and all the sudden going fishin’
wasn’t such an imposition
and I went three times that year I lost my dad
well I finally read the good book
and I took a good long hard look
at what I’d do if I could do it all again…
Like tomorrow was a gift and you got eternity to think about
what’d you do with it what did you do with it
what did I do with it
what would I do with it?
*****
Lyrics by Tim Nichols and Craig Wiseman