Limited time offer

I was checking my Facebook page on Saturday, living a virtual life in lieu of a real one, when the chat box popped open. I'm always startled, and usually annoyed, when that happens. I like talking to my friends, but chatting with them via instant message isn't my favorite thing to do.

This time it was an old friend stopping by to say hi. Let's call him Auguste. I won't identify him further so as to protect his privacy for reasons that will become obvious. I wish I could tell you more about Auguste. I have some great stories about this colorful man, and it's killing me to not share at least a few of them here.

I hadn't spoken to my friend in many years (and still haven't, as it happens). Instead of talking, we entered into one of those instant message keyboard conversations. I find these a bit disconcerting since you inevitably end up carrying on discussions on several topics simultaneously as you ask and answer questions on overlapping lines of thought.

My friend, always an interesting person, has gone on to lead a fascinating and accomplished life. He has been places and done things many of us have only dreamed of, and I enjoyed hearing a little of the adventures in his life as we caught up with each other.

It was a gorgeous spring day in Suburbingham, and I knew the weather was just as nice in the city where Auguste lives. At one point in our wide ranging virtual conversation, I pointed out that it was a beautiful day for both of us and how wrong it was that we were spending part of it indoors talking to each other on our computers. Here is part of what followed.

Auguste: I don't get out much these days.

Hank: Why?

Auguste: My health sucks.

Hank: Define "sucks."

Auguste: One doctor who loves challenges cracked his knuckles and said "seven major body systems all in crisis, this will be fun."

A few years ago, I would have dropped the inquiry and changed the subject at "I don't get out much" and definitely at the response "my health sucks." I would have felt like I was prying into something that was none of my business instead of bluntly asking him to explain further. I would have felt trapped into an uncomfortable conversation about something I didn't want to think about.

I'm not sure what about me has changed, but something has. "How are you?" isn't a rhetorical question from me any more. In the past, I didn't want a truthful answer from you to that question. Today I do. I don't know if it's my age or the age we live in that has changed me.

I think part of it is that I have become more aware than ever before of the fragility of life. I see that the opportunities to have new experiences, enjoy good health and feel real joy in being alive are limited. Nothing in life is promised, and none of us should be surprised when the "good times" come to an end.

On Sunday I spoke with someone who had just received an awful medical diagnosis. He has heart problems, and, after his most recent battery of tests his doctors told him there was nothing further they could do. The implications of the diagnosis were unavoidable and were written all over his face. "I guess I'm just worn out," he said in the most dispirited tone of voice imaginable.

I'm powerless to change the life circumstances for either of these men. I can show my concern, but I can't restore their health or improve their lives. I will certainly pray for them and wish them well.

While I can't help them, I can help you and me, Discerning Reader. We need to keep reminding ourselves to live our lives to their fullest and not waste a single moment. Life and good health always come with expiration dates, and we aren't always going to be notified when that limited time offer will be revoked.

I will never forget when the terminally ill Warren Zevon made his final appearance on Letterman and he advised the viewers to "enjoy every sandwich." Life is too short, too uncertain and too precious to squander the good moments that come our way.

As soon as I signed off with Auguste, I found Teri and told her we needed to get out of the house for a while. We walked hand-in-hand through the Bayberry Woods down to the nearby lake on that sunny late afternoon. As we walked, we talked about this and that. Our conversation was about nothing in particular or of real importance, but the walking and talking were the most important and enjoyable thing either of us did that day.

In fact, our walk was the highlight of my week. For that little while, we were both completely alive and taking full advantage of a limited time offer.