Each Day is a Gift

 None of us is promised tomorrow. Each day is a gift. 

These are trite, cliché phrases. One shouldn't write cliché phrases. 

The truth is, though, none of are promised tomorrow. or even the rest of today. None of us is promised another sunrise, tequila or otherwise.

'What brought this on, Mister Madman,' you ask? 

I'll tell you. I'm a cyborg, what with the stents and implanted defibrillator/pacemaker; an electrified heart. All sweetness and light, right?

Apparently not.

 I spent the last few days in the hospital, being overly concerned with the status of my vital pump. 

I had scheduled myself for five hours of Saturday overtime to pad the paycheck a bit. I got two and a half hours in, had to take my half-hour break a bit early, then could only do one more hour of answering phones before it became too hard to answer them with a smile on my face, even after four doses of nitroglycerin.

That's when I called out, called my wife downstairs for a second opinion, then got bundled up to the hospital emergency room.

Fun times.

But I'm back, and alive, and none the worse for wear, in spite of having only the hospital TV and my own thoughts to keep me company. My wife brought me my phone and a couple of books I'd checked out later on (MUCH appreciated, especially the books: Edison's Alley (book 2 of the Accelerati series, intended Young Adults), and A Higher Call - more on this one when I finish it). But no laptop to type on, or paper to write on, and I had phone but no charger - needed to husband its strength as well as my own. I could read but not write. Ah, well.

While there, they would only allow one visitor at a time, and NO minors. Thus only my wife got to visit, but no Bear Cub. Now I'm home and the Cub and I are together, and bug-tussling enough to make up for lost time. 

I love that kid.

I was told by sweet wife that having me home relaxed the girl enough that she got to sleep fairly quickly, and my wife is happier as well. 

I'm happier, too. But I have a host of sonic patterns to unlearn. 

My wife was sitting up, reading, and the chair squeaked. No big deal, except it sounded just like the door to my room opening. My hospital room. which usually meant someone was there to wake me up and take my vital signs, if not a bit of blood.

I was awake in an instant.

Then I realized I was at home. 

Ah, well.

One other thing that came to mind last night, regarding hospitalization and visitors, was: what if I was truly dying, and wanted to say good-bye to everyone I conveniently could. The Bear Cub would have been left out, and she would have been the one most in need of such communications.

Thus the germ of a ghost story was spawned. 

I'll wrap it for today, but look for the ghost story before the weekend is over.

Remember to build for a thousand years, but be ready to leave for your final destination at any time.

To the best of your ability, leave nothing unfinished or unsaid. Bequeath the rest into good hands.

Yes, You Can!