If you were in an accident tomorrow and could never walk again, would you wish you had taken more walks?
If you lost your hearing tomorrow, would you struggle to remember what the voices of your loved ones sounded like? Or wish you could really listen to beautiful music one more time?
If you lost your sense of taste tomorrow, would you wish you had really savorerd the flavor of the foods you loved?
If you lost your sense of touch tomorrow, would you wish you’d spent more time running your hands over your child or grandchild’s hair or their sweet, smooth face? Or holding the hand of the love of your life?
If you lost your sense of smell tomorrow, would you wish you had savored more the smell of a hot apple pie, or of a baby after their bath or of leaves burning in the Fall?
If you lost your sight tomorrow, would you wish you had really looked at the beauty in nature and the sky more closely? Or that you had really studied the faces of your loved ones so that they would be commited to memory?
If you lost your voice tomorrow, would you wish you had sung more and spoke more lovingly to those around you?
If you lost a loved one tomorrow, would you wish you had said the things you felt in your heart that you assumed they “knew,” and told them how much you loved them the last time you saw them?
Sometimes we get so busy with life that we forget to savor — the moment, the person, the touch, the beauty that we take for granted.
May God grant us all the wisdom to savor what we have t.o.d.a.y.
I wrote this because my dad lost his eyesight before he died, and at that point, I promised myself that I would try to savor the sights around me. And I especially have learned to apply that to the sky — I just love looking at, and, now, taking pictures of, the ever-changing sky.