Several years ago, before my cancer diagnosis and my whole world flipped on its head, I stepped into a bedroom with a four-poster bed and a poofy white comforter. A little head stuck from the top of the comforter. The woman smoked, completely horizontal, with her face barely visible! A bottle of whiskey sat on her end-table, still pretty full. I blinked hard, then stared—so this must be the cantankerous, dying woman.
“Something from when I was a kid. Something I thought I forgot. My mom, dad, and I were walking in a field." She took a very deep breath. "I miss them. They were good parents."
And now that I’m sick, I can’t help remembering these odd moments from my life that have all built into something so much more. The present...sure is a strange thing.