Waiting to exhale

You know those people, we all have them in our lives, they are constantly moving, going places, doing things, running here and there or taking care of everyone else in their lives but themselves. It's like they can't exhale....they are just on constant move mode. I am often that person.

Waiting to exhale. Waiting until all the days tasks are checked off my mental list and then I can rest. Maybe that explains why I don't rest well. Is everything really ever checked off our lists? Are our lists ever complete? Do we really want them to be?

This week the sudden death of a co-worker has made my mind spin off in ways I often don't allow it to. It's caused even more sleep issues than I normally have. This man was about my age and had a multitude of health problems but it didn't stop him from living his life. As a matter of fact the day he passed, he had been out shopping for household enhancements. He had Twins tickets for a game on Tuesday night and he had plans for his next weekend. Just like anyone of us, we plan, God laughs. It made me really start to think about how do I really want my story to end?

Part of my new job is to do writing for our internal website and this meant I needed to write a story about him. I collected info on his life here and talked to his manager and wrote a story about him. It's odd how you sum up some one's existence in a few short paragraphs and quotes from those who worked directly with him. What is your story? What will people say about you when you are no longer here? What will you be remembered for?

It's always so good until it goes bad and then it makes you wonder...why do we keep waiting? Why do we wait to buy something, or be happy, to see things we have always wanted to see? Before we know it the parties over and we become a few paragraphs on a website and our life becomes a box of memories for someone else. It's a little over whelming to think of it in those terms but really, when we aren't here to assign meaning or memories to physical things what good do they serve for anyone else?

It seems so far away, like that won't happen to us for years and years but really, it could happen tomorrow. We could be gone and not even have a choice. What will we leave behind. What will those who loved us have to hold on to? What mark will we leave behind to show that we were here, that we mattered, that we existed. What do we have to leave behind that says we were something?

If you have to write your own obituary, what would it say? Are you a beloved mother or wife? A cherished friend or lover? Are you a person of substance that leaves someone missing you? What do we have to leave behind?

Why then do we wait? Why does it take a death to make us realize we aren't really living? Why can't we see this now and live? Why do we wait to exhale?