I cross my left foot over my right knee. My sneaker’s logo glows in the night. I begin to tighten the laces and the still is shattered with a loud pop. There’s hissing. An ember lands at my feet. I’m a bit too close to the fire pit, but the warmth is welcome. It’s cool and the calendar tells me it’s no longer summer. I’m a little saddened by this fact as I gaze into the fire. Summer has passed too quickly, and I haven’t accomplished all I wanted. Summer fires look pretty but drive you back with all the heat. Fall fires pull you in with their luxurious warmth. It’s 55 degrees and the heat is a gift this evening. I watch the colors in the coals as they flicker. White scatters to yellow, orange, and red without warning. It’s brilliant and comforting. I like my time at the fire.

 

I see the fire light in my daughter’s eyes as she tells me of her classmates who sit in the quad of desks with her. We discuss the issues that challenge her, and I feel my time is well spent. When you’re a dad, you want to fix things. When you’re a daughter you just want someone to listen.

 

Earlier this evening we took a trip around the neighborhood together; me in my sneakers and Heather on her scooter. I made sure to buy her a new scooter with LEDs in the wheels when she wore out the old one. At night it’s impossible to miss the dizzying array of lights as they go round and round. She thinks it’s cool. I think it’s a safety feature. I watch the colors in the wheels as they flicker. Green scatters to purple and red without warning. It’s brilliant, and comforting. As the wheels spin and my sneakers plod she tells me of the characters she’s created in Roblox. She tells me she loves singing and wants to be a singer when she grows up. She beams when speaking about her art projects at school.

 

Her eyes are blue, like her mother’s. It’s an unusual slate blue, and when she’s in low light or super excited about something, her pupils grow into crazy huge anime black with a thin slate ring. It’s beautiful and stunning and I know when they glow like that she’s speaking with real passion. She speaks of Minecraft and the amazing house she has built in the game. It’s foreign to me, but I listen because it is important to her. I treasure these moments knowing I’ll never get the time back, but it’s time well spent. Still she qualifies her achievements by saying, “it was just done in creator mode, not survivor mode.” Interesting.

 

I’m a heart patient so time is precious to me. I became acutely aware of my own mortality and have investigated all the statistics about longevity post op. There are flaws and gaps in the data, I know. There are also things my doctors have yet to discover about me. What other surprises are waiting inside me? I am aware of this, so I know the amount of time I have left here is anybody’s guess. I think about this while I sit at the fire.

 

How long do I have?

 

I went to a concert recently with a friend. I made the statement that the headliner is getting up in age and won’t be doing this forever, so we need to see him now, before retirement, or before he’s gone. The show was fun as expected and I’m glad I got to see the performance. On the very long ride home my friend spoke to her past days in an intra-business softball league. It came up a while ago, so I asked her to tell me more about it when we had time. I could tell this was important to her. On this night I would get her story.

 

As she spoke her eyes illuminated in the same fashion as my daughter’s. An injury keeps her from playing today, but the passion is there burning inside her. I could hear it in her words and see it in the same brilliant eyes as my daughter’s. Hers are almost gray blue and perform the same anime trick when she’s speaking from the heart. There’s a flicker in her eyes from the dashboard lights and it changes without warning. I heard all about her love for playing and coaching the team, and even writing the newsletter. The highlight was where she was called the best pitcher in the league, and it was backed up by a supporting crowd during an argument on the field. “Dude, you’re up against the best pitcher in the league, just take the strike.” Many would want to brag, yet she spoke of it with grace and humility, citing that it “was just an after-work league, so…” “But, yeah, I loved it.” Inside, I questioned why she would minimize her ranking by using the after work small league qualifier. Many would just say, “I was the best!”

 

As I listened, I thought how fortunate I was to hear what each of these ladies loved most, straight from the heart. In life we learn to guard ourselves and our passions. They open us up to attack and expose our vulnerability. Hearing people’s innermost thoughts requires mutual trust. Trust takes time.

 

How long do I have?

 

I’m a heart patient. I question how much time I have left.

 

Carl Sagan is the one who said, “And after the earth dies, some 5 billion years from now, after it’s burned to a crisp, or even swallowed by the Sun, there will be other worlds and stars and galaxies coming into being — and they will know nothing of a place once called Earth.”

We speak lightly or talk down to our own accomplishments because they’re not as great as our supposed superstars. It’s a shame, because five billion years from now our greatest all-time pitcher in Major League Baseball will have records that mean nothing to the rest of the universe. What matters is here, and now, and how that relates to us. Your accomplishments have value. They mean something to you, and they speak to where you sit and what you’ve accomplished within a group of peers. It has significance to each of us, so it means something. I wanted to hear each story because each one is important, and now I can see why. I’m glad both shared their thoughts with me.

 

I don’t know how much time I have left on this Earth. Do I have a year, two years, ten years? Just a few days? It’s easy to count in days and think there’s a lot left. If I live ten more years, I will have 3650 more days. If I live to be 90 that means I’ll have, what? Something like 11,000 more days! But at some point in this timeline, I’ll have only 30 days left. And unlike a video game I won’t be able to just add more lives or add more days. There is no hack to purchase or get around this. It’s not a game.

 

If we knew we only had 30 more days left, would we look back and question which days we wasted? When I get down to 30 days, I won’t care about Sandy Koufax’s baseball stats. The title of the league won’t matter. I don’t need 5 billion years to know that what will matter is that on a couple of nights I lived life and got to spend it with the greatest singer and video game player, and greatest pitcher in the league. Those days, those nights, and those people matter. Here. Now.

 

11,000 days. 10,998 now, with two days not wasted. I’m good with that, because 5 billion years from now our most popular and highest paid vocalist won’t be here and Sandy Koufax won’t matter. He won’t even be a blip on the radar.

 

-But right now, my friends and family, and extended family of OHS survivors here, matter to me.

The outline of a bird on my sneaker looks orange in the fire light. Only the small leaves of birch and elm have fallen. Oak and maple hold fast in early October. The small leaves have their own early fall scent as they collect and decay. The soft aroma of burning oak and pine in the fire pit permeates the air, mixed with just a hint of small leaves. My daughter is asleep with her head on my shoulder and her pad sits in her lap playing a sea shanty. Her white-blonde hair glows orange in the fire light. I watch the greatest singer I know as she sleeps and breathes. It’s late as I write this. The fire needs another log or two. The summer slipped past and I’m still not ready for it.

 

I have so much left to do. How long do I have?

 

I want to thank each of you, the heart patients who share your stories, your fears and your dreams. Thank you for trusting and putting yourselves out there. I love life. This, and you, matter. Here. Now.

 

As I sit by the fire thinking, I think that sometimes I need to think less. I’m a heart patient, but that doesn’t mean my life can’t be amazing. I spend my time with the people who matter and who add to the brilliance in my life. For them, I am grateful. When I get down to those last 30 days, I won’t look back on wasted days, but rather look back on the best life possible. I’ve been given an incredible gift. However much time I have left, it’s all a bonus. I don’t know how I’m going to conclude this. Maybe it’s just words that will go nowhere. I’ll throw another log on and watch my daughter sleep and finish writing this later.

The October moon has risen and greets me with all its splendor, as if to say, “Hey you fool. Stop missing summer. Fall is here, now, don’t let it slip by.”

 

I like my time at the fire.