I find your lack of faith disturbing: Words, words, words
This is a fine piece of work about writing by screenwriter Josh Friedman that shames me into getting my ass in gear. Or should anyway. And the ending is beautiful.
- The morning of my cancer surgery I woke an hour before my son and gathered up the few things I would take to the hospital. My wife had made me a photo album to keep by my bed and this went into a small bag along with my ipod, a portable dvd player, and some toiletries that would never see the light of day. I had to be at the hospital two hours before surgery and my biggest worry was leaving before my son woke up. My second biggest worry was not leaving before my son woke up.
As it turned out, he woke up a few minutes before I had to leave. I hugged him, told him I loved him and that I would see him later. Toddlers have no sense of time and as far as he was concerned, the word "later" meant either "when you walk around the corner" or "oatmeal."
I knew that "later" meant one of two things: either "five days from now when they let me out" or "never."
There are rare times in your life when everything crystallizes and you can for good reason wander around your house saying things like: "this could be the last time I look out this window" or "this could be the last time I take a hot shower." Or, as was the case with me, "this could be the last time I stand out on my fucking lawn waiting for this neurotic dog to poop."
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