by Donna K. Weaver
A coworker (of sorts) is going through a very tough time right now. Her husband suffered a double stroke a couple of weeks ago. As if that wasn't hard enough, he slipped into a coma, and his doctors had no idea where the clots had come from.
Things got even more challenging when they discovered a mass in his liver, and the doctor said the big "C" word. Further test determined that he has cancer in his liver that has metastasized throughout his body. Seems the strokes may have actually been a blessing. There's so little hope with his body riddled with cancer and so much brain damage from the strokes they must now decide whether or not to take him off life support.
I really feel for this coworker. I was a widow at 26, and I remember days when I would take my two children to the park after work rather than go home to the empty house. How long and miserable Saturdays and Sundays were because those were the days his absence was most keenly felt since he'd have been there with us. When suddenly you're the only one to comfort and console your children who don't understand why daddy isn't there anymore.
The life we have is precious. I believe our priorities for how we use the hours of our lives are critical. We should decide what's really important to us and invest our time in those.
What does this have to do with writing?
Where do our dreams of writing/publishing fit in our eternal scheme? Only we can decide if watching that TV show (or whatever our distraction of choice might be) is important enough to pay for it with hours of our lives. Do we give up doing something higher on our priority list? Are we putting off to a later time--a time we may not have--the people and things that are most important to us?
On this somber Sunday, I challenge us each to review our priorities and compare them with how we're actually spending our time, make sure we're being with the people and doing the things that mean the most to us.