The most precious 2 hours

I had meant to take James for the afternoon so that Terry and her family could have a break—that way she could deal with all the doctors’ appointments and other things she needed to attend to without a 6 year old in tow. The play date was scheduled for Tuesday. However, the phone rang at 7:40 AM. Terry decided to change plans. She insisted that Zefram come over to her house for the play date instead of me taking James off her hands for the afternoon. I was shocked but Terry reassured me that it would be perfect. There was no arguing with Terry. She had made up her mind. Terry insisted that I start writing on my blog again. She was adamant. “You need to write” she told me. “Besides, it is all set up. My niece is coming over to watch the kids. It will be perfect. Go home and write” she told me again. It was an order more then a suggestion, so what could I do.

My problem with writing was that I felt inadequate to put the words down. After all—I am no one special—I am just a regular person, I happen to have dyslexia, and my voice does not do justice to the grand overwhelming issues that take place in the world. Although I thought that this was a perfectly good reason not to write, Terry thought otherwise. Whatever writers block I was having (and no matter how sorry I was feeling for myself) I needed to get over it fast. Terry’s call was no doubt the Universes way of giving me a good solid kick in the right direction. Nevertheless, I was shocked by Terry’s insistence to write. I could not believe the gift I was being given. Terry is dying from cancer. I am supposed to be giving to her, not the other way around. But one of Terry’s many endearing qualities is thinking of others even in the face of her own adversity. She is always trying to do good things for others—even at the very end. So with a grateful heart, I obediently dropped Zefram off and came home to write, determined not to squander the 2 hours I had been given by a dying woman. They were the most precious 2 hours that I had ever been given. These 2 hours were more special then gold or diamonds because in reality time is the only true possession that we have as human beings and how we spend it is so very important. I was thankful for the 2 hours and was surprised at how much I had accomplished upon my return to Terry’s house.

When I told Terry how I had spent my 2 hours she simply smiled at me over her walker obviously very satisfied. She said I told you that you needed to write. She was so pleased. Terry said that she had woken up that morning and had such a strong feeling that this was something that I needed—she said that she was moved by the spirit and that she knew that she needed to give me this gift. I also realized (in that moment) that it made Terry feel powerful to be able to give something back to me or anyone. Terry could not control dying, or what was happening to her. But she could control how people remembered her. In a strange sort of way, I realized that I had indeed given Terry a gift too; the gift of dignity. I had been willing to RECIEVE her 2 hours and that was as important as anything I could have ever done for her. This made her happy. So the next time I have an arbitrary 2 hours in my life I will think of Terry and really contemplate how I use my time. Terry has taught me so many life lessons in the short time that I have known her. I am forever grateful.