Late at night, when I can't sleep for whatever reason... my mind starts wandering. I start remembering moments of my life, like a slideshow. That's what life is, really. Moments remembered, moments forgotten.. all strung together. The sum of one's existence.
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I'm five and in a tent with my brother in the back yard on a summer night, overcome by an uncontrollable case of the giggles because my brother farted in his sleeping bag and it sounded strange. When I hear the odd noise, I ask "What was that?" and he replies, quite seriously, "My butt."
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I'm thirteen and my Dad got me a job cleaning tables and serving desserts at the American Legion hall. One evening there's a big party for someone's 50th wedding anniversary, and the Legion hired a big band to play. I was in the kitchen filling water pitchers for the dinner, and one of the musicians was in there warming up, playing an old, romantic 1940's tune. I started singing along softly, and he stopped and came over to me. He said the song was "their" song, meaning the couple celebrating their anniversary, and he thought it would be great if I would be willing to go up and sing it for them, since the band had no singer. I was flattered and agreed.
After dinner was served, the tables were cleared for dancing. I had nothing to wear, so I went up on stage in my kitchen black pants and turtleneck. My father and mother looked strangely at me as I took the stage. The band began to play.
I will never forget the expression on my Dad's face as I started to sing. By the end of the song, both of my parents were dancing and weeping.
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I'm twenty-one and living on the island of Maui. It's early one morning and I'm on the phone with my Mom, looking out the window at the ocean, which is smooth as glass. Suddenly the water explodes and a gigantic, full-grown humpback whale leaps from the depths into the air. I'm struck speechless. It's only about 300 yards from the shore. I spend the next 45 minutes watching three whales play in the morning sunshine, describing the scene to my Mom over coffee.
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I'm twenty-four and I'm sitting in my doctor's office. She's telling me that the tests have found endometrial cancer in my uterus and she's explaining treatment options. My ears are ringing and my eyes won't focus.
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It's three-fourteen in the morning, November 21, 2008. I can't sleep.
I have a lot for which to be thankful.
