Swings in barometric pressure wreak havoc on my head.
Saturday was one of those days. What started out as a good day for house cleaning ended with a terrible headache, nausea, and hours spent lying in a dark room, hoping sleep would dull the pain. It takes me
out completely. I hate the pain, the wasted time, and the feeling that my body has taken over, and I no longer have a choice.
I turned 67 on Friday, and my body is beginning to show signs of aging.
People who have grown up with significant trauma often experience the effects of aging differently. Bessel van der Kolk writes in The Body Keeps the Score, trauma doesn't simply affect our memories-it leaves its mark on our bodies as well. Looking around my family, I can see that. My father fought in Germany during the Second World War. My mother contracted polio as a young woman and spent much
of her life in a wheelchair. My siblings carry their own burdens, and for many of them, the wounds of
our childhood was never truly addressed.
Most of all, though, I was reminded that I am mortal.
When I was younger, death seemed like something that happened to other people, somewhere far in the future. These days I think about it differently. Not with fear, and certainly not with despair, but with
a growing awareness that my time is finite. It makes me think about leaving things in good order, helping ensure that LifeLine CDC continues to thrive, making amends where needed, and investing in the people I love.
There is nothing quite like a debilitating headache to remind you that life is fragile. (At times it honestly feels like your head could explode.)
I'm not someone who spends much time asking, "What legacy do I want to leave behind?" My question is simpler: Did my life matter? Did I do the best I could with the gifts God entrusted to me?
One day I hope to stand before God and hear the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant." In the
end, that matters far more to me than recognition, accomplishments, or having my name remembered.
So, for now, I want to live with as few regrets as possible. I want to spend time with the people I love, continue the slow and intentional handoff of LifeLine CDC to the next generation of leaders, and live in a way that honors God.
I don't know when my end will come. None of us do. But every difficult day, every reminder of my own frailty, nudges me toward the same conclusion: a good ending doesn't happen by accident. It is shaped by the choices we make today.
And perhaps that is one of the unexpected gifts hidden inside even the worst headaches. They remind us that our days are numbered-not to live in fear, but to live life with purpose.