Gone Tomorrow

What would you do if you found out you only had one more day to live? Who would you see? What would you say? How would you spend the time you had left?

Tough questions, I know. Impossible to answer, to even comprehend, unless you have to face it. Luckily, most people will never have to face that news. But again, it begs the question, would you want to know? If you only had a day, a week, a month to live, would you want to know? Would it change the way you lived your life? Undoubtedly, it would. Or would you want to be in the dark, oblivious, sheltered, and then bam; it’s over?

I don’t know about you, but to me, it’s sort of a double-edged sword. Knowing means that you can do a few final things, as heart breaking as they may be, at least you have a sense of closure. But knowing also comes with the paranoia. Will this be my last breath? How about this one? Will it hurt? Will I be afraid? What will happen next? What would have happened?

They gave me one month. One month from the day they found out. One month, give or take. Could be three weeks, could be five – if I’m lucky. One month.

How many people are given this news? Not many. Usually there are options, treatment possibilities, but sadly, for me, there are none. I’m only forty years old. I was certainly not expecting it. Maybe if I was eighty, but then again, would you ever be ready? I guess now, I’ll never know.

Forty years old, but I have to admit, I’ve lived a full life. Not that I wouldn’t want to live longer, I would, if I had one wish that would be it. But, I have no regrets from the four decades I’ve spent here on earth. I’ve loved, I’ve been loved more than I ever thought possible. I have a wife, a beautiful wife, and two beautiful daughters. That’s more than most people have in a lifetime, isn’t it?

I’ve lived a full live, but, god, what I wouldn’t give for more; still I have no regrets, except perhaps one and that ones simple. Tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and they’ll be here, with out me.

~*~

We’re sitting in the doctors office now, my wife is beside me, sobbing and squeezing my hands as the doctor explains. I can barely hear him. His voice is distant but somewhere the words are registering. Cancer. Terminal. One month.

How is this possible? I don’t understand. I go for yearly physicals, in fact, I’m neurotic about it. I’ve always been in perfect health. This was just another physical, only nine months from the last. I don’t understand. I feel fine. So I ask.

He’s sorry, he tells me. The doctor is sorry, I laugh bitterly to myself. Why couldn’t he catch it? I don’t understand. Terminal cancer just can’t show up overnight. It just can’t appear out of nowhere. Again, I ask.

It wasn’t there last year, but somewhere in these nine months it grew, spread and grew some more, now it’s too late. Still, I don’t understand. I feel fine.

You will feel fine, he tells me, until the very end.

This is too much, I can’t take it anymore. It just cannot be happening. We need to leave.


Driving home, we don’t speak, but my mind is spinning as I suspect hers is through her tears which are coming less frequently but still coming all the same. How do I tell them? How do I tell anyone? How do I explain when I don’t understand myself?

I stop the car in the driveway; we just sit there. The girls are at school, the bus won’t drop them off for another hour yet. We just sit there. “I love you,.” I whisper to her, the first words we’ve spoken to each other in almost an hour. I look over to her, Sydney, my Sydney. She looks terrified. We don’t know how to live without each other; it’s not in our nature.

Sydney and I have been together for thirty five years. Yes, you read that right. We met when we were five years old. Our parents put us down in the same sandbox. I threw sand at her, she cried and ran away. My mother scolded me until I went over to this strange little girl and apologized. She smiled at me, kissed my cheek, and the rest is history.

We’ve been married for twenty two wonderful years. Yes, we got married when we were eighteen (much to our parent’s dismay). Sure, it was hard, and we had to work at it. But we both wanted it so badly all the work was worth it. Now we have two beautiful girls Isabella, she’s twelve, and Rachel, she’s eight.

Do we have the perfect life? I think so, or I did. Well, I still do, we just hit a little bump on the road of paradise.

“I love you, too, Michael,” she sniffs. “What are we going to do?” she asks as she reaches her hand over and squeezes mine.

“I don’t know.” I tell her honestly. We have tomorrow don’t we? Maybe we do, but maybe not.

~*~

I’m sorry, I tell them. They don’t understand.

I’m sorry I won’t be there. I’m sorry Daddy won’t be at your wedding; I want to be there. I’m sorry I won’t get to teach you to drive. I’m sorry I won’t be there for all your graduations. I’m sorry I won’t be there to scare all the boyfriends away. I’m sorry for all the birthdays, all the soccer games and all the times that I’m going to miss.

“Daddy?” my little Rachel whimpers. “Where are you going?”

How do I answer? What do I say?

Daddy’s sick.

“Can’t they give you medicine and make you all better?” she asks with her big, brown innocent eyes that are flooding with tears of confusion.

“I’m sorry baby,” I say hoarsely. “They can’t.”

Cancer. Isabella understands; starts to cry and runs to her mother’s arms. Rachel doesn’t understand entirely. I pull her into my lap and try to tell her, but she gets scared and runs away.

That night we pull them into our big bed, hug and cry together. Tomorrow’s Friday; they don’t have to go to school, we tell them. We’re going to spend some time together, while we still can. After all, tomorrow, I could be gone.

~*~

Denial, Anger, Begging, Depression, Acceptance.

These are the stages of death, or so the psychology books say, and I have to admit, they’re right. At least, in part. Denial, yeah, I had that one right away. I mean, this couldn’t be happening to me, right? To other people yes, but not to me. Cancer doesn’t run in my family, how could this happen? How? It’s impossible. There must be a mistake. Yes, that’s it, a mistake. Yes, it’s a mistake.

But this is ridiculous! How can it be happening to me?! ME! Michael Vaughn! No, it can’t be. Because it’s not just me. If it was me, I could handle it. But, it’s not. It’s them! Sydney, Bella, Rach... I cannot do this to them. It’s not fair!! It’s not fair god damn it! Why do they have to grow up with out a father? Why? What about Sydney? Why does she have to live her life as a widow? No, I don’t want it!

That was anger.

Then I called the doctors. Please, isn’t there something you can do? Anything? Chemo? Radiation? Surgery? Something. I’ll try anything. Please. Please. Please..

Begging, yeah, that one too. All in the course of a week. I guess I should be on depression now, I hit all the others, but I’m not. It’s more a sense of determination to get things done before I don’t have another tomorrow.

~*~

One month. Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours. Forty three thousand, two hundred minutes. Two million, five hundred ninety-two thousand seconds.

How do you live a lifetime in such a short period of time? What do you do? Live every day as if it’s your last. What does that even mean? You never known unless you’re there, staring it right in the face.

It’s scary actually, I mean, constantly you’re questioning. Is this the best use of my time? Could I be doing something more worthy? I’m only forty. Today, the average life span is over eighty years old. How do you live forty years worth of life in seven hundred twenty hours? Three hundred of which I’ll probably spend sleeping.

That’s it. No more sleeping for me.

Kidding. I’d probably only last about five days... well, no, I’d only last a day before Sydney slipped me a sleeping pill or something.

All I have is a month and I’m going to use it.

Being the organized man that I am, I made a list. Things I wanted and needed to do. I still went to work, but only half days. I needed to work, to keep my mind busy and not dwell on my uncertain future. I decided I wanted to spend one day, one complete, uninterrupted day, with each of the people that I love the most.

I started with Sydney. We both played hooky from work and spent the entire day in our bed making love and talking quietly as we always do. We didn’t talk about it. It being the fact that I won’t be here next year, or even next month. Mostly, we talked about our crazy past, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad. It was probably one of the best days of my life.

Then, each of the girls. I told them both that we could do whatever they wanted to do; they didn’t even have to go to school. Usually, Sydney and I are sticklers about attendance. Unless they have a high fever or are too miserable to even stay awake for more than three hours at a time, they have to go to school. But things change; priorities change. And right now, spending a few hours with me is much more important than reading Romeo and Juliet. They can do that anytime, but I have a limited amount of time left.

Rachel wanted to go to the park...never wanting to grow up that one. She swung on the swings and went down the slides and then we walked around the lake, feeding bread to the ducks and talking. She’s still a little young to really understand what’s happening. Yes, she understands death but, she doesn’t understand why it’s happening. Then again, none of us do.

Walking around that lake with her, it was difficult to keep my composure, especially when she asked those damn honest questions that kids always do. Am I scared? Do I know what will happen? Will it hurt? Questions I can’t answer; I don’t want to answer; I don’t want to know. I tell her that I’m a little scared, but only because I’m leaving them alone.

“We’ll be ok, Daddy,” she tells me. “Because we know that you love us, no matter what.”

Next, Bella. She’s always been Daddy’s girl. From the moment she was born she had me wrapped around her tiny little finger. She wanted to go to the ice rink and skate and then come home and watch Disney movies while sitting in my lap like she used to do when she was younger. She asked questions similar to her sister’s and I tried to answer them the best I could.

After both days, I was emotionally spent, as I figure I will be for the remainder of my time on this earth. I’d lie in bed after they were asleep and I’d cry because I don’t want to miss them. I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want to not be there. Sydney would curl up in my arms and she’d cry too and hug me and kiss me until we fell asleep.

Then, Eric. He’s my best friend and my brother-in-law, sort of. Like Sydney and I, Eric and I met in elementary school. We’ve been friends ever since and five years ago he married Sydney’s younger sister, Nadia. Eric and I spent the day playing hockey and tossing a baseball around, our typical male, macho hang out events. He didn’t say anything about it until the very end of the day. He promised to take care of the girls. One simple sentence meant more than I could ever say to him. I gave him a stupid, typically awkward man-hug and thanked him. He knew how much it meant to me. Eh, we’re guys, what can I say?

Finally, my parents. That was the hardest of all. What can I say to them? I guess it goes back to the age old ‘you’re not supposed to bury your kids’ thing. It’s true. I mean, now that I have Rachel and Bella, I completely understand. Burying one of them would kill me, absolutely kill me. They tried to keep it upbeat, but it didn’t work. My mother ended up crying most of the afternoon and I just sat there, not knowing what to do or say to change the circumstances.

~*~

It’s been three weeks, well, 19 days, so not quite two full weeks, and I’m finally beginning to feel it. I’m not sure exactly what ‘it’ is, but I’m feeling something. I feel different. Mostly, I’m tired. Getting out of bed in the morning is harder and staying awake past nine is almost impossible.

Nadia, Eric and my parents stop by at least once a day now. I stopped going to work; there’s just no point in it. I mean, I finished my project and starting another would be pointless because... well, I wouldn’t be here to finish it. Everyone at work is real sympathetic, and you know what? I’m getting kinda tired of sympathy. I mean, no one knows how to be around me, it’s just... annoying. I mean, I’m right here. I feel relatively fine, I’m not contagious. But still, they treat me that way.

One nice thing about it though is the girls. They never leave the room without giving me a hug or a kiss on the cheek and telling me that they love me. That’s nice. I mean, I know that they love me, but hearing it is nice.

One bad thing about this, though, is Sydney. Not that she could ever be a bad thing it’s just... I hate what this is doing to her. I think she’s aged more in the past few weeks than in the past few years. She’s got these worry lines around her eyes and her mouth now that I never noticed before. I mean, maybe they were there but... I don’t know.

Sydney’s a planner, just like I am. Neither of us have done anything spontaneous since our impromptu wedding in high school. I think the wrath of our parents after that scared us well enough so that we’re on the straight path for life. We plan everything out; organize. Everything. This really threw a curve ball into the mix.

I see her, she tires to hide it, but I still see her. Going through financial statements, mortgages, life insurance, everything. She’s trying to figure out how she’s going to support herself and the girls on just her salary. She has a good job. She majored in chemistry and works for a pharmaceutical company. It pays well, but I don’t think well enough to stay in this house.

We moved here nine years ago, right before Rachel was born. It’s a great house in a great neighborhood, but, unfortunately, great means expensive. I also have, or had, a good job, so with both of our salaries it was fine, but now, probably not. I mean, we have savings, lots of savings. Since Sydney and I have been married for our entire adult lives we never had two different apartment rent payments and we were always working so, yeah, we having savings, but they won’t last for the rest of the girls lives and she cannot use the girl’s college funds. Which means they’ll have to move to a smaller house. I hate that.

She won’t talk to me about it. She doesn’t want to burden me. But the thing is, I’m the one burdening her.

“No, you’re not,” she tells me. My head snaps over and I gape at her. Apparently, I’ve been thinking out loud with out noticing again. “You’re not a burden Michael, don’t you ever, ever think that.”

“But...,” I sigh.

“Michael, you’re not. You’re a blessing, always and forever,” she says as she gets up from her chair across the room, walks over to me, and sits down in my lap. She kisses me tenderly and for a long time before whispering. “I love you. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”

“I can help,” I whisper.

She nods slowly. “Okay, tomorrow you can.”

“Okay,” I sigh. Tomorrow. But how many do I have left?

~*~

It’s been twenty seven days and I’ll be damned, the doctors were right. I wonder how often that happens? It’s almost over now, I can feel it. I can’t describe how or why, I just know.

For the past two days, I haven’t gotten out of bed. I’m just too tired and I don’t want to. I manage to shuffle downstairs and sit with the girls as they eat their breakfast before catching the bus to school, then I come back to bed and sleep.

This afternoon, I woke up with Sydney’s body curled around me. She must have left work early to come home. She’s watching me sleep and silent tears are falling down her face. I think she knows, just like I know. God, she’s so beautiful, even when she’s crying.

She gives me a few slow, passionate kisses. I think she wants to make love, I do too but, I’m too tired. She knows it too so she just lays half her body on top of mine, her head nestled in my neck, holding onto me so tightly that it makes me want to cry. She scared and the worst part is I can’t take away her fear because.... I’m it.

I make it down to dinner that evening, but I eat nothing. I’m not hungry, the food doesn’t look appetizing to me, and so I go and sit on the couch. I flip through a few TV channels but this doesn’t hold my attention for long. In the kitchen, my girls are whispering together. Sydney’s telling them something; I don’t know what. Probably about me, that’s all they whisper about these days.

There is a pang in my chest and for a second, I can’t catch my breath. This is it, I know it, how? I don’t know. But I do. I break out into a cold sweat, my breathing, is it labored? I don’t know... I don’t think so. I’m not sure. Now I’m just paranoid.

“Michael, are you alright? You look pale...,” she asks as she walks into the room.

“Fine,” I say feebly. “I’m just going to go upstairs.”

Now that it’s here, I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell the girls, I don’t want to scare them or upset them. Ok, well, my death will upset them, but seeing the looks on their faces would probably kill me faster.

I’m lying against the headboard of the bed, just staring blankly at the wall for I don’t know how long before Sydney slips in quietly and kneels on the bed beside me. She runs her fingers through my hair and kisses my slightly clammy forehead. I just close my eyes and let the feel of her hand in my hair wash over me, send tingles down my spine and warm my soul just like she always does. “You ok?” she asks in a whisper.

“Yeah.” We both know that’s a lie.

She just nods her head softly against mine and goes to slide away but I grab her hand and hold her back. “Syd...” I whisper. She looks at me. “Do you know where all the papers are? The wills? The key to the safety deposit box?”

Her breath hitches in her chest; I hear it. She nods slowly as tears begin to stream down her face. One of my hands is still holding onto hers and with my other hand, I reach over and cup her face. “I love you.”

“I love you.” she repeats, her voice weaker and full of suppressed sobs.

“Don’t call an ambulance ok?” I tell her as I shake my head softly. “I don’t want it.”

“Okay.” She sniffs.

“One more thing?” I request. She nods slowly, her bottom lip quivering dangerously now. This is the hardest thing I will ever say in my life. “I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life alone Sydney...”

“Michael, no,” she interrupts, shaking her head furiously.

“Sydney, please,” I beg.

“No, Michael, no. You. You’re my soul mate. Nobody else.”

“Sydney you’re my soul mate too it’s just... if you ever... well, it’s ok with me. You never have to wonder.” I say even though my heart is now broken.

“Okay.” She sniffs reluctantly. She knows I’ll accept nothing less.

“Okay.” I nod. “I think I hear the girls. I’m going to say goodnight,” I say choosing my words carefully; goodnight not goodbye.

“You going to be ok?” she asks. I nod.

I take my turn with each of them. Kissing them, hugging them, telling them that I love them and tucking them into bed. Then, I return to my own bed where Sydney is already under the covers waiting for me. I slip in beside her and pull her into my arms, holding her for what I fear is the last time. Immediately when I lay down, something shifts or changes, I’m not sure. Breathing is getting a little bit more difficult.

“I love you Sydney Anne.” I whisper to her, my lips against hers.

“I love you Mi-Michael,” she chokes through her tears. “I don’t want it to be over,” she whispers.

“Neither do I. I’m sorry,” I tell her. She looks curious. “Sorry that I won’t be here.”

“But you will. Right here,” she says with her hand over her heart. I nod slowly and close my eyes.

Falling asleep that night is difficult. I fight it as long as I can. I just listen to the sounds of Sydney’s breathing, getting slower as she falls to sleep. I fight sleep as long as I can but finally I submit. I don’t have to wonder what will happen next because I know.

I know that tomorrow, I’ll be gone.