I probably spend too much time thinking about death.
To be clear: I am in no way suicidal. As far as I know, I have no terrible disease. All data indicates that my family members are in good health and generally look both ways before crossing the street. Our cars have an abundance of airbags, and we always buckle up.
And yet.
Life is filled with “what-ifs,” and I’ve thought through a million scenarios where I die, my husband dies, our kids die, they all die … .
It’s a byproduct of every Code Red drill the school announces, every fatal-accident report I read and every Facebook post that mourns the sudden death of someone much too young.
So, what if, I ask myself, any of that happens to us, to me?
How do I view my life? What message do I want to leave?
And I’ve settled on this, as my one regret:
I wish I could do it all over.
Not because I’d change things, but because I wouldn’t.
I’d happily spend eternity living my life over and over again.
I want to log on to eHarmony, read a profile, think “Ooh, I like this guy,” and send him a message.
I want to prepare for our first date a few weeks later, hope he’s actually cute and be delighted to find out he is.
I want to hold his hand for the first time, sit down for a chat in front of an aquarium and then stand up three hours later, completely in love.
I want to pray that we don’t drive off a cliff in the Pyrenees.
I want to huddle in a tent at midnight in France, staring at a positive pregnancy test, then ask him, with some trepidation, “What are we going to do now?”
I want to hear him reply, calm and confident, “We’re going to have a baby.”
I want to start singing “Baby Mine” to her six weeks into pregnancy — and still have it be her favorite song, 10 years later.
I want to marry my love in September, with my father officiating. (But, this time, I’d know to linger with my dad, stay an extra while in his hug, ask him a few more questions. Because you can love your life, but still want to tweak it).
I want the joy of whispering “my son” when Child 2 is on his way. I want to bask in the sunshine that is my third child’s soul.
And I want to walk down Rendezvous Mountain again, holding my husband’s hand.
If God allows us to design our own heaven, that’s the version I pick.
None of this is meant to brag or to gloss over the struggles my life has held.
I could fill a whole blog with posts about mistakes I’ve made, people I’ve hurt, ways they’ve hurt me.
But, quite simply, I need to have this written down.
On the off chance that some day soon I’m diagnosed with incurable cancer or, lost in my thoughts, I mistakenly step out in front of a bus, I want this to be clear:
My life has been a blessing. I am grateful for every day I get to live it, for however long that is.
When it’s my time to move on to heaven, I leave this life with no regrets.
I’d do it all again tomorrow.
