Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
A good friend of mine took out a second mortgage on his house in town - bought a few remote acres. His plan was to build a small log home and then when he hit retirement, he'd sell his house, pay everything off and live debt free in mountains. He spent 2 years building his little log house. Every weekend he'd be up there, even in the winter. Then, one day it was ready to move into. 6 months before he was due to retire from his job at the plant he'd worked at for 30 years, he was diagnosed with stage four cancer - beyond treatment.
Life is about enjoying the journey from day to day, and making the best of them. He must have enjoyed and took pleasure in his work each of the days while at his dream home in the mountains.
That reminds me of a guy that my husband and I knew. When he retired from the military, he found a good job in South Carolina. He and his wife sold their house, moved, and six months later bought another place. Just months later, he found out that he had stage 4 cancer and that his chances were slim at best. It didn't take long. His two sons were still in their teens.
Life is about enjoying the journey from day to day, and making the best of them. He must have enjoyed and took pleasure in his work each of the days while at his dream home in the mountains.
Kind of breaks my heart when I think about him loading his tools every weekend to drive into the mountains to work on his house, rain snow and summer heat. All his plans. He never took vacations, never bought himself anything, just saved for his cabin. Been dead 2 years now and I still think about it.
For quite a few years I had been helping an elderly lady (15 years older than me) who lived in my condo building in Baker City, in Northeast Oregon. She had no relatives in the area, the closest seemed to be a son who lives in Arizona. It was sometimes a pain in the butt to help her, but there was nobody else to do it. Her name was Leonor Karsai, a tiny woman, originally from Hungary. She had a strong accent and was sometimes hard to understand.
Tuesday morning, at about nine, I went down to her condo to remind her that a plumber was coming to check on a problem she was having. I knocked on her door but there was no answer.
I went back upstairs, and when I looked out my kitchen window, I saw her pulling her shopping cart across the parking lot. I thought she was taking something to the trash room.
I rushed downstairs to talk to her, but when I got there she was gone. I thought she had gone back into the building.
I went back upstairs and called her cell phone. No answer.
Five minutes later I got a call back from her phone. It wasn't Leonor – it was somebody who told me an elderly lady had been hit by a car ( a block away) and was thrown across the road and they didn't know who she was. I gave her the necessary information.
A few minutes later I got another call from Leonor's phone. This time it was a police officer who also wanted information. I gave it to him – where she lived, where I thought her son lives, and so on.
Then I went to the hospital where I found out that she had died.
She was 93. The man who hit her was 84, but I'm not sure it was his fault. She wasn't on the sidewalk, she was walking down a busy street, in the traffic lane, pulling her cart, which she often did. The man's son called me and wondered if Leonor had any relatives he could reach out to. He said his father was devastated.
One of the doctors at our hospital told me about his father who decided to change career and went to medical school in his early 50's. He finished it alright and on time and was very excited about his new job prospects, as a geriatric doctor at local hospital.
He was a very fit man and expected to work another 20 years or so.
On the graduation ceremony, when they called his name, he got up, and started to walk the aisle to the podium. Middle of it he had a heart attack and died.
From joy.
It's not all bad. I'd absolutely love to drop dead or be killed in about 2 seconds. My mom never wanted to linger--does anyone?--and she had a massive stroke and never regained consciousness.
It was a bit hard on me, my sister, and my nephew, but she got her wish. She didn't suffer.
The Rest of the Story is for another day.
Please register to post and access all features of our very popular forum. It is free and quick. Over $68,000 in prizes has already been given out to active posters on our forum. Additional giveaways are planned.
Detailed information about all U.S. cities, counties, and zip codes on our site: City-data.com.
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
