Well, it’s been a day. And for most of us, tomorrow will be another day. We expect it, don’t we? The sun will rise and we will still be alive. We’ll have breakfast and read the Sunday funnies. But I remember my Grandma saying something which stuck with me:

None of us has the promise of tomorrow.

No one has promised us that today wasn’t our last day. In fact, we’re warned incessantly, in the static of wisdom that drones on beyond the salubrious rhythms of self-centered daily life, “live each day as if it were your last.” So in that spirit, here’s how I spent the last day of my life:

• Slept in until 10am.
• Piddled around on the computer until almost noon.
• Worked on a financial aid case for a sick cat (I volunteer).
• Showered, dressed, and went to my folks’ place with my dog.
• Sat on the deck and chatted with my Dad, while waiting for my brother and his wife and small son to return from a long walk.
• Had lunch … a hot dog and fruit.
• Returned to my condo and re-shelved an avalanche of books that had accumulated in my bedroom. Made some phone calls.
• Back at my folks’ place, I hung out while Bro and family left for a concert in Hollywood.
• Sat on the deck and sort of eavesdropped while my Mom talked on the phone with a hospice worker, about Grandma’s end of life care.
• Talked with my Mom and thought about how the world is different now than what I used to think it was. The people in the world when I was a kid were part of the landscape and structure of the world, and some of them are gone. How can the world then be the same?
• More e-mailing and such.
• Had coffee with my Dad, sitting on a bench outside the bank, listening to people walk up to the ATM and discover it was out of order. For the most part, this didn’t throw anyone into grave conniptions.
• Rented a movie – Magnolia. I’m not sure what it’s about, haven’t seen it, and it’s still in my backpack. It’s a five day rental, so if I’m still alive on Thursday I’ll take it back. If not, hard cheese, Video World.
• Bought some pasta and a loaf of bread and some diet soft drink mix. Everything was on sale. Sweet.
• Drove to a hilltop near my home, overlooking the ocean. Walked my dog and let her sniff and pee while I called my 12-step program sponsor to check in on my state of mind.
• Checked my e-mail while making dinner and watching Evel Knievel’s son jump over a bunch of planes on an aircraft carrier in New York. He survived, but his actions don’t reflect what I believe, as my Grandma Chloe said, that none of us has the promise of tomorrow. This might be it, folks. My big finish, the ol’ shuffle off to Buffalo.

All of which brings me here, back to my black Dell, with the dog asleep under the desk. Remember the TV show Hill Street Blues? There was an episode where Lt. Howard Hunter of SWAT (James Sikking) was suicidal, and one of the other cops swapped the ammo in his gun for blanks. Then just before he tried to shoot himself, he sat down and wrote out a Haiku.

Well I’m not suicidal, but in keeping with the theme – No Promise of Tomorrow – I’ll leave you with a bit of poetry. And a word of advice, for those inclined to take advice from a poet: Pick up the phone, say I love you. Don’t wait until tomorrow.

So Hard

Some things just cannot be helped.

Your grandparents grow old, pass away.

Maybe you haven’t been calling; so

hard to be understood.

The roaring deafness.

Your dog gets old and sick

and bites as you set down

his tepid, pureed food; so

hard to be remembered for kindness.

The sun goes down coldly.

So you have the dog put to sleep

and driving home you remember

that girl that stopped calling; so

hard to keep the mind focused.

The singular grief of the day.

— Kyle Kimberlin

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