“You Have Cancer,” Dealing with Life’s Death Blow

"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

— J.K. Rowling 

Learning you have cancer is not the most joyful news. The doctor enters the room, somber, you know what they are going to say, but until they say the words, you keep hope alive, “I’m going to be fine, I’m going to be fine,” but when the word cancer is spoken, you are faced with your mortality.

The fact is we are all going to die. Imagine getting the news later today that you had cancer, what would you do, how would you change your life, what would you add to your next month’s bucket list that maybe has yet to make that mandatory list?

Your time here is short, but chances are you are wasting it on things that don’t matter. I mean they matter, they are important, people are counting on you, things need to be done, but at the end of the day, ask yourself, are the things your spending time on really that important?

I have my annual physical tomorrow, I have no reason to worry, after a near-death experience, I’m feeling 100%, but there is a chance she can tell me I have a terminal disease. I try and imagine what I might do, things that I might change. 

I might try and spend more time with my kids. My kids are grown adults, I let them live their lives, one is married with a kid on the way, another works for us, and the youngest is in graduate school. They are all busy, I’m busy, but with a terminal diagnosis, I think I would make more time to spend my final days passing on as much knowledge as I could.

My relationship with my Queen wouldn’t change; I can’t imagine spending another moment with her. Our lives are intertwined so much these days, I don’t want to spend one second less with her, but I can’t imagine adding to that time, we are together almost every moment of every day, working, living, laughing, loving, this is the part of my life that would not change.

I might pen a few more thoughts; instead of 1000 words a day, I might up it to 2000 or maybe 2500, attempting to stretch my legacy a little further. I have a bevy of writing that will exist long after I’m gone, anyone that has an interest in me can spend months digging through my thoughts, I could produce volumes of ideas, thoughts, most average, but there are some nuggets if one were to spend the time mining the words for wisdom or guidance.

I would reach out to every friend I’ve made in my life; I would thank them for their time and tell them what they meant to me and my time here on this earth. I would start with my family.  I would tell my mother and father how they helped shape me into the man I am, the man I’ve become, and the legacy I will leave behind. 

I would tell my sister how proud of her I am. I would tell her how amazed I was at how she handled the loss of a limb and let me make it a staple joke of my life. If you don’t’ know, my sister has one leg, but she’s accomplished more than most others I know with two, take that universe!

I would schedule a day with my brother Ronn Shumaker. I would simply sit and rehash the last 20 years, the good, the bad, the ugly, and thank him for his loyalty and jab him for him occasionally grumpiness. I would spend a day with my ex-wife thanking her for making two of the most wonderful young adults this world has ever known and again apologize for not the best husband I promised her I would be.

I would spend time with my work team; I would thank them for their investment of time with our firm and tell them how amazing they were and how knowing they could work with anyone, how thankful I was they spent their working time with us, helping us chase our goals and dreams.

I would call every client that impacted me, I have my close clients that have become more than just clients, but friends, confidants, and people that helped shape the man I became.

If I had a terminal disease, I think I would purge my belongings — no sense in forcing others to clean up my mess. I would take about 90% of my possessions to a mission, goodwill, or another place that might use the goods I felt I needed for no damn good reason. 

I would review my will; I actually have a will, I would make sure it is exactly what I intended that I’ve not changed my mind on who gets what, where my investments would land, maybe pick a couple charities to shower with a windfall.      

I think I might plan a trip; I don’t know where. There are so many places I’ve yet to see, but there are some places that I would like to visit before leaving this planet. New Zeland, Iceland, Australia, Russia, Japan, Europe, would all be on the list prioritized by the time I had left, the time I could balance the travel with the other needs of my fading life.

I think I might start smoking; I used to love to smoke, if I was going to die, I might pick up a pack of Marlboro Reds, maybe Camel Nonfilter and I would drink every day. I would have a dirty martini for lunch and make sure they used the correct glass when serving my final few beverages. I might try some drugs, like mushrooms, DMT, or Iowaska.  I would live by my Uncle Hunter’s words "Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "Wow! What a Ride!"

I would continue talking to God, making sure She was ready for my grand entrance to Heaven. I know many would say I won’t make it, but I’ve got some inside knowledge there is a place for me on the other side, I would discuss with her my new living space, how I want to make sure I have windows to watch as my family continues to grow and help change the world.

I would do all of those things, but for now, I am going to keep living like I am never going to die. I’ll not do the things I mentioned above, instead pretending that my time here is infinite, no need to rush things, I’ve got all the time in the world.

I encourage you to make your list of things you would do after learning you are going to die. I would then ask that you read the list and remind you that no matter your health condition, you do have cancer or some other disease that will eventually cause your light to dim and then flicker one last time. Your light is bright today, but one day will fade, and once it’s gone, your ability and opportunity to do all the things you want to do will forever disappear.

"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."

— J.K. Rowling