Driving home from school a couple of years ago, Waylon and I heard something on a news story about the passing of a 95 year old woman. “Wow, she lived two years past what I’m going to.” I said.
Waylon looked at me sideways. “What?” He said.
“I’m living to 93.” I told him.
“How do you know that?” He asked, clearly confused.
“It’s the age I’ve decided on and I’ve declared it to be true. 93.”
Today is my dad’s birthday. Today he would be 76. This picture was taken at his 48th birthday party. Already very sick with Leukemia, it would be the last birthday he would celebrate.
My father’s death took a toll on my psyche. Acutely aware that cancer–the silent killer–could be lurking inside of my body at any time made me worry about my health and mortality. I worried about whether I was being proactive enough in caring for my body. I worried about missing “early warning signs”. And I worried about leaving my children without a mother.
I worried and worried and worried.
Until…
A miraculous intervention from my Heavenly Father (a story that I will write about at a later date) changed everything for me.
It was then that I finally found peace, even declaring that I’ve decided to stay on this earth until the age of 93.
Of course I know that I ultimately don’t have control over such things. But even if I die tomorrow I will not regret or feel disappointment in my declaration.
Deciding to live to 93 has filled me with added life, joy and health.
This picture was taken at the Sugar Bowl in Scottsdale (my favorite) on my 48th birthday, and I can honestly say that in this my 48th year I feel healthier than I ever have. Because the funny thing about worrying about your health is, it makes you sick. And knowing that I’m living to 93 has given me the freedom, health and peace of mind to really live.
So if you find yourself with nothing to do when August of 2062 rolls around, meet me at the Sugar Bowl for a grand celebration. I’ll be the one with lots of wrinkles and a giant banana split.