At some point you stop dying and start living. We all have an expiration date—and if you’re reading this, you haven’t hit yours yet.
I thought this as I sat at the edge of a beautiful river. Mike and I celebrated our 6-year anniversary, and I decided to be done dying.
I went from fully clothed to shucking nearly everything in a matter of seconds. As I floated out in the frigid water, Mike’s eyes quadrupled in size. “Well, you sure ain’t boring.”
I snorted, so happy—and cold. “Come on in. The water’s fffffiiiine.”
But he did not want to come in. And then my legs cramped up on me….
The thing with cancer is that it makes you want to do things you previously lacked the courage for, but now it’s almost too late. “Oh, my gosh, Mike,” I said. “My legs are freezing up.”
“No, really.” And the current started to take me. I could just imagine myself floating straight to some farmer’s crop, where they’d make me walk out—in all my glory.
Mike, that good ol’ Eagle Scout, didn’t want to get his pants and shoes wet, so he stripped down to his skivvies—taking forever like some show in Vegas. Then, when I thought he’d finally save me, that man freaked out because of “mud.”
Meanwhile—near actual danger—a red creature (probably venomous) popped up right by my toes and almost ate my face off!
Anyway, after the second coming of Christ, Mike dipped one dainty foot in and snatched me from a future with a successful farmer.
We held each other, both of us covered in mud. Then we put our clothes back on.
I swear we haven’t laughed that hard in a long time. And as I leaned back on a rock, resting in the arms of my own personal hero, I couldn’t help thinking about how he makes even the worst situations the best time ever.
I love you, Mr. Magagna. You’re one hell of a ride. I hope we can keep on livin’ this dream together for a long, long time.