If I’m gone tomorrow . . .

16 Aug

I received this heart-wrenching but charming e-mail from a family member. After reading it and digesting its message I made myself a promise to do my best to follow the path this article laid out for me. Some of the items will be difficult for me to adhere to but others are, as they say, no-brainers, one particularly. In the poet’s words, when the path I travel diverges in two different directions I’ll choose the one least traveled, rather than follow the crowd.

This is the article I received:

One evening a long-married couple retired for the night, but only one awakened the next morning. On that cold clear morning in the warmth of their bedroom, the survivor was struck with the realization and the pain of knowing that sometimes there are “no mores.”

No more hugs, no more special moments to celebrate together, no more phone calls just to chat, no more “just one minute.”

Sometimes someone we care for the most gets all used up and goes away, never to return, before we could say good-bye or say “I love you.”

So while we have it, it’s best to love it, care for it, fix it when it’s broken and heal it when it’s sick.

This is true for marriage and old cars, and children with bad report cards, and dogs with bad hips, and aging parents and grandparents.

We keep them because they are worth it and because we are worth it.

Some things we keep, like a best friend who moved away or a sister-in-law after divorce. There are just some things that make us happy, no matter what.

Life is important, like people we know who are special, and so we keep them close.

Suppose one morning we never wake up? Do all our family members and our friends know we love them?

The important thing is to let every one of them know we love them, even if we think they don’t love us back.

And just in case I’m gone tomorrow,

Please vote against Obama.


Posted by on August 16, 2012 in Uncategorized


6 responses to “If I’m gone tomorrow . . .

  1. Nancy Dunham

    August 18, 2012 at 7:27 am

    What a terrific blog post! Love the ending! Nancy

    • thekingoftexas

      August 21, 2012 at 3:15 pm

      Thanks for the comment, Nancy. When I first read this posting I was absorbing the truth and the value of these statements and depression set in, but when I read the last hilarious line I bounced back to my usual ebullient self. I remembered the senior Hank Williams’ lament that “no matter how we struggle and strive, we’ll never get out of this world alive.”

      I felt better immediately, armed with the knowledge that we and our friends as well as our enemies will also leave—we differ only in our direction and final destination. Ain’t that a hoot!

  2. nancydwrites

    August 18, 2012 at 7:28 am

    This is a laugh out loud one! Love it!

    • thekingoftexas

      August 21, 2012 at 3:26 pm

      I’m glad you enjoyed it. The essay was anonymous so I couldn’t thank the writer, but I was able to thank the family member who forwarded it to me. I hope those I favored with the posting help spread it around, even though they may find it prudent to change a word in the last line, depending on the intended recipient. Thanks for the comment.

  3. sue

    August 31, 2012 at 5:25 pm

    I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you and will call you next week. I love you. I love you and even if you’re still here on November second I’ll vote against Obama. I love you!

  4. thekingoftexas

    September 13, 2012 at 10:19 am


    Your comment and your seven—well, you know, those seven times you expressed your feelings with the same three words—deserves three exclamation points. To paraphrase the words of Dave Gardner, my all-time favorite stand-up comic, “Ain’t nobody that lovable, but you have finally convinced me—I really am that lovable!

    In order to save ink and paper, I will reply with a not-so-subtle “Right back at you,” one for each of the seven counts. Your phone call recently was well worth waiting for, and I’m looking forward to the visit with you and your mom. Just let me know the airline, the date and your arrival time.

    Call me when you have your baggage in hand, and I’ll be there post-haste, usually 15 to 20 minutes. Otherwise I’ll have to circle around and around like a Texas buzzard scanning for roadkill.
    Mind you, I do not view arriving visitors as roadkill, nor do I resemble a Texas buzzard—that’s a euphemism I just created. I probably should copyright it.

    Just a bit of trivia: Buzzards have poor eyesight, so they don’t really scan for food. Their olfactory perception is highly developed, so they ride the air currents and follow the odor rising up from roadkill. I started to say “sniffing for roadkill” but decided that scanning would be more acceptable to the buzzards.

    Just let me know well in advance so I can rearrange my “collections,” sweep the walks and patio, make up the beds, fluff up the pillows, dust the blinds, wash the dishes and clean the windows.


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