We asked Chicago Tribune readers last week, `What would you do if you knew you had only a year or two to live?’ Of course, philosophers have debated that question for eons. But we wanted to know how ordinary people would really spend their remaining time on Earth. Here’s how some readers answered the question. More responses can be found at chicagotribune.com/list.
Looking back
Is it optimism or defiance when an octogenarian renewing a subscription chooses the three-year option? If my alarm clock were set for my last hour, should I be alarmed? I don’t need those things to remind me of God’s love, which is as constant as the ticking of that clock. But if I knew my time was at hand, I’d rush to see and hear and touch kids and grandkids, in-laws and out-laws, cousins, friends, the ones whose sepia faces are frozen in the time of the Great Depression and the New Deal, and those in the full-color era of the Meal Deal. Thanks, I’d say to them all, and forgive me, I’d say to them all. It has been great, I’d say to them all.
Ed Wall
Orland Park
My to-do list:
1. Snorkel on the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.
2. Learn how to swear in 10 languages.
3. Paint a picture with my husband.
4. Try hang gliding.
5. Take an acting class.
6. Go bungee jumping.
7. Climb to the top of the bridge in Sydney.
8. Go on an African safari.
9. Take a dog-sledding trip.
10. See gorillas in the wild.
11. Walk on the Great Wall of China.
12. Tour the pyramids in Egypt.
13. Sleep one night in the desert.
14. Sing with a band.
15. Walk backward 1 mile.
16. Take a tram ride to the top of a Swiss mountain.
17. Attend a costume ball.
18. Ride the train to New Orleans.
19. Drink a $100 bottle of wine.
20. Learn to play the piano.
Eileen P. Gardner
Chicago
Don’t worry
If I knew I faced my last day, week or month of life, I would choose not to believe it.
Why should I curse my last days with urgency?
Why should I give up the best part of life, which is believing that its end is like the horizon, visible yet always far, far away?
Marie Anderson
La Grange
Elly’s lesson
I am 88 years old. Recently, my wonderful best friend, Elly Ripp, died suddenly. She was 78. On May 7, one day after I had treated her to lunch she wrote the following note:
“It’s not just because you took me to lunch, or for the exchange of ideas and facts we have, or for your sympathetic ear. It’s because you are so dear to me and such a loving friend.
Love from Elly”
So, if I had one month to live I would do what Elly did unknowingly–I would write a note to each of my children, grandchildren and great grandchild, my dear relatives and friends, telling them how much knowing them has meant to me. I would also spend as much time as possible with them. Books, music, film, plays would be secondary. I would be happy knowing that I spent my last days with those I love.
Rebecca Moskowitz
Lincolnwood
5 goals
If I only had a year to live, I would:
– Savor whatever experiences are needed to create lasting, positive and proud memories in the minds of my wife, daughter and broader family. The more laughter, the better.
– Find a way to do something nice for all who have occupied space on one or both of these two lists: people I love and people who love me.
– Not waste another minute of my time on people who have abused my friendship.
– Beg, borrow or steal my way into every White Sox game humanly possible!
Bob Gross
Long Grove
Life’s journey
“What would you do?” After about 10 seconds, a few answers came. See, at age 18 I was a statistic: black, Chicago high-school dropout. I joined the Army for six years. Tried my hand at selling furniture. Went from receptionist at a stock brokerage firm to new-accounts rep. Married a blue-collar guy I met in a bar some 20 years ago.
Became a housewife. Taught two kids to dodge crack-war bullets in the ’80s and saw them both graduate college.
I gave writing a shot and saw a few stories in print by some of the biggest publishing houses. Walt Disney World and Paris were my “Venitian” dreams–I’ve seen them both.
Just last week, Glamour magazine called to say that actresses Katie Holmes and Lucy Liu, among other movie-biz notables, have selected an essay of mine to be one of the first productions in their short-film series. So this fall, I’ll step out of a limo and hit the red carpet in New York. Who knows what happens next?
That’s it. Even knowing the hour of my death would not make me live life more urgently than I already do.
Staring down the barrel of 50, fate still keeps springing like a jack-in-the-box.
I’m often scared, but never too scared to dare. As a GI in Germany, when my name was called–the only female picked to join the M60 (machine gun) team–my stomach churned terror even as I said, “OK.”
So I must humbly disagree with that great philosopher Yoda, who famously said, “There is no `try,’ there is `do’ or `do not.’ ” Great movie line, but totally un-American. The Wright Brothers could never have gotten to the doin’ without countless hours of tryin’.
And yes, last summer I taught the little girl across the street how to ride a two-wheeler.
Sometimes life feels big even when it’s small.
Tina Diane Slatton
Chicago
The joy of homework
People always think they’d do things so differently. The night I found out I had breast cancer, before we knew how bad it was or whether I would survive (I have been cancer-free for four years now), I went home and helped my 11-year-old daughter with her math homework. Just spending time with her, teaching her and helping her through some of life’s problems was the most important thing in the world to me, and remains so to this day.
Jennifer Glick
Goshen, Ind.
Friends
If I knew that I had only a short time to live, I would call some formerly close friends–female and male–and tell them that I still love them and think of them.
So what’s keeping me from doing it now? Probably my perception of social mores and the fear of being embarrassed or rejected if I were to do so now.
Nevertheless, I think that I’ll make the calls anyway.
Wally Salganik
Buffalo Grove
A cowardly approach?
What do I say–that I’d quit smoking and go for a jog? Apologize to whom and for what? See Venice–again?
No one–no one–ever believes that they’re going to die in a day, a week or a year, and so the question is entirely theoretical. It can’t be answered honestly, never mind actually. For one thing, illness itself–the sheer physical misery of it–puts a lot of these sweet ideas entirely out of reach.
A little background: I’ve been HIV positive for at least 20 years. I was diagnosed at a time when HIV was literally an automatic death sentence. Of all my friends who were diagnosed at or around the same time, I’m the only one who is still alive. I attribute my good fortune, if that’s what it is, to pluck and defiance, coupled with an absolute willingness to follow doctors’ orders and never to start planning my “last day” or “last act.” It never occurred to me in the face of this threat to climb a mountain or take up yoga or “forgive myself” or to wake up and smell the flowers or anything like that–my goal was and always has been to keep living. Maybe it’s because I’m a coward by nature–too afraid to die, and therefore … not dead.
More people should follow this path. The very idea that people facing death should also be required to “make the most or the best of it” is deeply offensive to me, and would also be, I suspect, to the hundreds of friends I have lost who wanted to stay alive, whether or not they taught a child how to ride a bike.
Anyhow, you won’t get many replies like this–so maybe you can use it as a counterbalance to all the gooey stuff that will undoubtedly come your way in this idiotic exercise in “wonderfulness.” Bah!
Peter Kurth
Burlington, Vt.
Straight talk
With only one year to go, I would do my givin’ while I’m livin’ so I’m knowin’ where it’s goin’.
Al Engel
Roselle
Perfectly satisfied
I am 75 years old and have had a great life. I have a loving wife, six wonderful children and 16 grandchildren. I had a job that I loved and have enjoyed 16 years of retirement. I am in excellent health even though I am obese. I have seen as much of the world that I want to see. God has been good to me. There is nothing more that I want. I will die happy.
Robert J. Roeder
Des Plaines
Peace and quiet
This is something that I have thought about many times over the past several years, especially with family members and friends passing away and my own mortality slowly catching up to me.
I remember a trip that I took in early October a few years back to the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. On the west side of the Rockies is a little lake called Lake Irene. It is not majestic like Jenny Lake in the Grand Tetons and it’s not as expansive as Lake Michigan. Instead, it is a rather small lake, a little off the beaten path, surrounded on two sides by mountains and wilderness on the other two sides. I remember climbing up one of those mountains, maybe 100 feet or so, sitting down and looking over the lake. There was no one there, except for me and my traveling companion. The sky was crystal clear and a beautiful blue; no wind was blowing. It was so quiet, I remember telling my friend afterward, that I thought that I could hear God whispering. It was so calming and beautiful, I did not want to leave. I have wanted to return to that little lake, to find that peace and quiet that seems to elude us all in our everyday lives. Most of all, I wish to hear God “whispering” again. Silly? Perhaps. But I don’t remember ever being as calm and quiet as I was there, and that is what I would want in my final days–peace and quiet.
S.E. Gustafson
Valparaiso, Ind.
Moveable feasts
Just like a prisoner condemned to die gets to choose a fancy last meal, I too would indulge myself by selecting the most recommended restaurants in Chicago and ordering the most elaborate and expensive dishes until my savings ran out or my number came up–whichever came first. The only problem with this is that the cholesterol would probably kill me long before my scheduled doomsday.
Mitchell Winthrop
Arlington Heights
Ode to Mozart
Listen to the song of birds, to children’s laughter, above all to the music of Mozart. His music is perfect. It is sublime beautiful, joyful, profound. He composed in all musical genres, including opera. He had a happy family life. He was a genius who died at the age of 35. He once said, “I never lie down at night without reflecting that–young as I am–I may not live to see another day.” Thank God he lived long enough to give us all that music that we can listen to forever.
“To laugh often … to win the affection of children … to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson
Plant a tree.
When things get you down “dust yourself off, pick yourself up and start all over again.”
Christina Slavens
Wilmette
