There was a period of about four days back in May when I thought my tumor was inoperable and I was sure I was going to die. There was one very long night in particular when I was awake all night thinking about what would be my last days. My mind went all through the chapters of my life, from school days, to college, to the various jobs and cities, and finally these past 15 years here in Northern Virginia, and in each time and place the people I have known. What became clear to me was that I wanted to get in touch with all of them (you) and make sure that they knew how much they meant to me in my life. I suppose you could say that I felt the need to say goodbye, but to me it was more that I just needed them to know.

I suppose that many seriously ill people go the other way, to turn inward and not want to share their pain with others. I felt some of that, too, not wanting to burden my friends and family with my troubles and sadness. But as I began to reach out to others it became clear to me that this was right for me, that I needed to do it and it would help me have a better chance to beat this thing.

I think most of us have asked ourselves how we would react if we thought we were dying. I’ve been surprised by my own reaction. I haven’t become overwhelmed with sadness or depressed, I haven’t been consumed with the “why me” or “why now” questions. Instead, I’ve just naturally moved the awareness of my condition to a back space in my brain and tried to continue with life. I’ve become more caring for other people, talking to clerks and nurses and other strangers, and more grateful for every wonder of life around me. I’ve had less tolerances for petty annoyances (more on that later). And my sense of humor has become more acute and more ironic than ever – and it was pretty ironic to begin with. At the same time, though, it never leaves my next level of consciousness even for one second that I am seriously ill. It’s like putting on amber-tinted glasses, everything I see now is a different color.

The one thing that always brings me to tears is thinking about what this is doing to my family. I’m not going to write about that.

It’s been a wonder to me that as I have connected with my friends, old friends and recent friends, and I tell them what is going on and how I feel about them, I’m finding it isn’t necessary: we just know. The passage of time seems meaningless, and whether it was from a football field in high school, an apartment in college, or an office in New York or Boston, the feelings are just as vivid and sweet as they ever were. There is something so fundamental about a real friendship that it transcends all time and place.

Not long ago I was talking to Alex about sports, one of the hundreds of discussions about things like Best NBA Teams in My Lifetime, and I started to name players like Walt Frazier and Allen Iverson and Jerry West and James Worthy, and I realized that my visual memory of each of them was just about the same, irrespective of when I had watched them play.  In other words, the images I’ve stored away have stayed stable in the archives, whether they were filed last month, last year, or many years ago. And when I search for an example to pair with a thought, I am just as likely to access one from the bottom drawer as the top. I guess this is one of the wonders of aging, and why dementia sufferers often remember their playmates from childhood but can’t recall what they had for breakfast. Once formed, the images we take from life stay with us forever – for better or worse.

This is how it seems I’m experiencing these feelings about the people in my life as well: they come upon me with random triggers, they are vibrant and powerful, and they give me surges of affection and energy. I’m struck by how many extraordinary people I have known, indeed how many we have all known, and the powers of their charisma and intellect. It is true: people are the most amazing people on the planet. I feel fortunate to have known so many remarkable ones.

Final thought for today: petty annoyances. Best things I’ve done since The Diagnosis are replacing the Teflon pan that doesn’t Teflon anymore; buying a new bag for the pool vacuum instead of trying to fix it; having the dog sedated so someone else can groom him; making the children unload the dishwasher; and so on. My life, your life, all of our lives, are too short for the little aggravations. So if I have one bit of advice for you healthy people out there, it is to identify the little things that take away too much of your positive energy, and flush them away – don’t tolerate those eggs that are still stuck on your frying pan! Find worthwhile things to fill your worry space.