I Thought I Was Dying

Not in the dramatic, chest-clutching movie way. Just… quietly. Suddenly. Like my body had been holding on with duct tape and resolve, and something slipped loose.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t panic. I wobbled over to my computer, opened an old email titled “If Something Happens,” and made sure it was the last thing on screen. I turned off the sleep function. Just in case.

It had everything ... goodbyes, passwords, where to find things. I’d written it years ago, never thinking I’d need it on a regular weekday night. But there I was. Dizzy. Off. Something not right. And all I could think was… make it easy for them.

Not because I wanted to go. But because if I did, I didn’t want to be found in a mess. I didn’t want my wife, or anyone, to wonder what I’d left unsaid. I’ve lived with MS for two decades ... and you learn, after a while, how to prepare quietly.

I took my blood pressure. I checked my face for stroke signs. I lifted my arms. Everything you’d learn in an emergency training course, I did. Then I lay down on the bed and waited for my wife to come home.

I didn’t call her.
I didn’t tell anyone.
Because unless I’m bleeding out… I don’t bother people with my ailments.

It’s not heroism. It’s habit.
People who love me already carry so much. And they tend to over-worry, over-help, over-react. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want pity. I just want you to understand, not fix me.

And maybe ... deep down ... I’ve made peace with the idea that when it’s time, it’s time. I love life. But I don’t cling to it like it owes me more. If anything, that night reminded me just how much I’ve already lived.

I cried.
Tears of joy.
Not fear.

Because even in that 20% chance that this was it… I thought, Damn, I lived.
There’s more I want to do, yes. But I’ve done things I’m proud of. I’ve loved. I’ve failed. I’ve reinvented myself more times than most people get the chance to. And I know ... I know ... I’ll be missed.

That part sucks.

Not the going. But the leaving people behind.

I think… what hit me most wasn’t death. It was wondering who’d be surprised. Who’d regret not checking in. Who never knew how close I was to the edge that night ... because I smiled through it the next morning, like nothing happened.

I went to work the next day. Sat in meetings. Answered emails. Functioned. Then after hours, I went to the doctor.

My blood pressure was sky high. He chewed me out. I nodded, made jokes, played the role. But something inside me shifted.

I didn’t post about it.
Didn’t declare a lifestyle change.
Didn’t say, “I’m turning over a new leaf.”

But I did.

Small things, quiet choices. A little less stress. A little more care. Because it’s mine. My change. Not for applause. Not for performance. Just… for me. And for the One who gave me this body to begin with.

You’ll know it when you see it.
But I’m not here to prove anything anymore.