I had a plan to write tonight about how busy and crazy life has been here lately with birthday parties, nights out, holiday happenings, visits to the doctor and ER, and the usual insanity. That's what I planned, but you know what they say about best laid plans.
I found out this morning that I boy (M.) I knew from high school - a man now, of course - died. I'm no spring chicken, but I'm also not at the point where my contemporaries should be dying. We're still pretty young with kids and dreams and futures. Only M. doesn't have a future now, and that's surreal. It's surreal, and it's wrong. He left behind a family who loves him, a career, the years ahead of him...
Maybe living each day like it's your last isn't so silly. Maybe Tim McGraw was onto something with "Live Like You Were Dying." Every time I looked at my kids today, I thought about M.'s kids. When I kissed Trevor after he came home from work, I thought about M.'s wife and how she would never get to kiss M. again. His mom won't get to make him another birthday cake; his siblings won't hear his voice on the phone; the public won't get to see his new art; his daughters won't lean on his shoulder after their first heartbreaks. It's wrong and it's sad and it's just damned unfair.
Someone I know posted a status update on Facebook today that said, "What if we all said, 'I'm going to make 2012 the best year of my life', then we all did it?" (By the way, I think it's brilliant, Alex.) What if we tried to do that every day? We could be nicer to each other. We could judge less. We could say what we mean and mean what we say. We could live up to our responsibilities. We could perform random acts of kindness. We could accept others for who they are instead of who we want them to be. We could live openly and honestly. We could live simply.
We could smile more. We could laugh more. We could love more. We could live more. We could.