Someday is Now
“What if these are the good ole days?” my husband asked suddenly one summer day as we drove home from a round of golf.
I smiled considering his words. At that moment we were looking forward to a glass of wine on the porch swing to watch the sun lower its tangerine skirts. The sale of our stressful family business was complete, the kids were doing well, with three of our sons soon to marry wonderful partners, and we were in one of those warm spaces in a long relationship where you remember why you love each other.
“I’ve never thought of it that way, but you could be right. We could be living the good ole days right now.”
But I didn’t really think so. I thought the best was yet to come. I thought there was time ahead for adventure and travel, more books to write. There was always a stretchy place in my mind where I waited instead of making things happen-- to learn Spanish, or how to play the ukulele. I canceled hikes if the weather was off, said no too often instead of yes to things I thought I had plenty of future for: meditation, yoga, connection with friends. All waiting for someday.
Five months later my husband had a massive heart attack, flew off a motorcycle in a Mexican desert, and died, shattering my world. It took a long time to believe I could rise from the ground and get beyond surviving to live fully again, but one thing was clear: I remembered the yeses more than the no’s. Yes to a weekend getaway when I had a writing deadline, but we went anyway, yes to a game of tag with the kids on an August evening of shooting stars, to the river rafting trips and the cutting of a Christmas tree in the forest when a bought one would be easier. I could not think of a single yes I would take back. I wished there were more.
A world of memory lies in the word yes, and in the end that is all we have. Not the new car, the right gear, better aerobic capacity to hike that mountain, or waiting for everyone in the family to agree where to go and what to do. Yes, and you go out that back door and don’t look back. It can take many forms--the child needing to be rocked, a daughter longing for your ear and a cup of tea, your partner beckoning from the bed with a half-smile of hope--as well as the grand adventures and unknown trails.
On that summer day with my husband there was no way of knowing that we were, indeed, living the good ole days, but today I know.
Someday is now.