I want you to think about dying. Dying soon. Let's say in a matter of months.
I mention this because I ran into someone who is wrestling with this: A 52-year-old woman whose advanced cancer (search) is apparently incurable.
She's nixed treatments that could extend her life, at best, for a matter of months.
So she wants to go out, she tells me, with dignity. But not before enjoying one last meaningful Christmas with her family. She's hosting and cooking and shopping. And everyone is coming.
Far from being devastated, she couldn't be happier.
"We all gotta go," she tells me. "I just have a better idea when."
She's a woman of deep faith. I met her as she was coming out of New York's St. Patrick's Cathedral. She recognized me and seemed eager to talk to me. She said liked my show and had a message for me.
"Keep talking money," she said. "But don't forget the other stuff, the important stuff."
She joked about telling her kids, "No gifts for me this year … don't have much time to use them."
"So what do you want this season?," I asked her.
"Them," she said. "One last time."
We parted ways, with me thinking what I would do if I knew "this" Christmas would be my last. Would I be so brave? So focused? So selfless?
I don't know. But this day, this much I did know. I was running late to pick up a gift. And suddenly, I didn't really care.
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