The Day That I Died
(revised 7/18/95)

This is the second speech I gave as a member of Toastmasters, and it is my most personal work to date. I hope you enjoy it, but more importantly, I hope you come back with a new appreciation for life...

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The day that I died was one of the most unusual days of my life. I mean, I have read articles and books on the subject and was expecting to see a bright white light. The only light I saw came from the overhead incandescents at Parkland Hospital. Three doctors made their way in and out of the office, one at a time. Finally, one doctor came in and said "We've diagnosed you as being morbidly obese." I had never been one to associate "Morbid" with a good thing, so I asked what he meant. The reply was not what I wanted to hear. "This is never an easy thing to tell someone, but you shouldn't expect to see 25. I'm sorry." It really took me by surprise. I was surrounded by doctors, and no one could help me. Needless to say, I was distraught.

Giving up is the easiest thing in the world. It involves letting go of everything. Holding on to the knowledge that nothing really matters, since it could all be over tomorrow. The hours turn into days, the days into weeks, and all that really matters is that the batteries in the remote control still work. When all is said and done, though, you find that miracles really happen. In my case, the greatest miracle that could have happenned at the time, did. I ran out of money.

The common school of thought is that poverty is not among the miracles of the ages. I mean, being penniless pales in comparison to, say, walking on water, but it is still a blessing. It is the one thing that helped me come get off the couch, and that was the one thing I needed most. I got a job at Microsoft, customer support. It was a wonderful experience. The phone would ring... someone would ask a question. I would have an answer. Yes. Another question, another answer, Yes!. Again, Yes, YES! I was making a positive change. I was making a difference. That's when I experienced the next great miracle. I got a phone call from my sister. She was pregnant.

She decided to call her son "Shane". This was a mistake. She told her brothers the child's name was Shane. The name brings up images of an old western film, whose highlight was a kid with the worst fake southern accent crying out to his hero as he rode away, "Shaaane... Shaaaaane, Come Back Shane!". Being cruel, as siblings often are, my brother and I used to tease her about it. She never let it bother her.

The first time I saw Shane, he was lying there, all dressed up in his little suit. So peaceful. His casket had the few toys he received during his life, and the best anyone had to offer my sister at the time was, "at least the suffering was over." I couldn't talk to her. I couldn't forgive myself for not taking time off from my job to see him while he was in the hospital. I walked to the gift shop and picked up a teddy bear, and came back and gave it to her. She smiled and started to cry. I hugged her, and apologized. She said it was all right. That was when it hit me. I realized I would never be able to spend any time with him, to take him for pony rides or play games with him. A lifetime of opportunities was gone forever, and there was no way to relive them. From deep inside, I could hear my own voice crying out, Come back, Shane.

You never know what life will bring you, so you really have to make the most of now while we still have it. I regret that it was the most valuable lesson I have had, but I won't let it be for nothing. Every minute matters, and life is a precious thing. Don't wait until tomorrow to let people know how you feel, because you may not have the chance.

Another miracle happenned to me recently. This one changed my whole outlook on life. I turned 26. It meant everything. It meant that I didn't have to give up, that I wasted precious time worrying about something that wasn't going to happen just because it was what I was told to expect. After losing my chance with Shane, I developed my new philosophy: A successful life is one that ends with as few regrets as possible. I live by that, and I never want to leave this world saying "I only wish I would have...".

The day that I died, I did see a white light. It was the light of hope, for a better tomorrow. I just didn't notice it at the time.

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