Six, Seven & 29,200

Recently I attended my High School’s Class of 1988 Reunion – our 35th.  I was reticent about attending and it took some coaxing from my family and a few of my closest friends to go.  The last reunion I went to was our 25th, 10 years ago and when I was still seen as a rather successful person in the conventional sense.   

The wonderful classmates who took their valuable time to put this event together were very supportive in the invite process, and openly pushed for my attendance. 

I would be walking into a room where I was not that husband, father, soccer coach, Mercedes Benz- driving country club alpha male – but now a convicted Felon and coming off a six-year stay with the Connecticut Department of Corrections. 

With the help of one of my best friends and his amazing wife basically holding my hand, I walked into that banquet room and radically accepted all that may come from it. 

As expected, my classmates were all very open, and happy to see me.  Many showed love, support and an unconditional acceptance of all I had become and my journey through the dark forest since we had last met.

The organizing classmates set up a table in the room with pictures of SIX of our classmates who were no longer with us.   Each had a candle warming their picture on the table. 

SIX. 

That took a minute to digest.   All far too young to be gone.  We had a moment of silence to honor the six as their names were read. 

Later on in the evening, I found myself alone at the table with the six lost from the Class of ’88. 

As I stood there in silence it hit me like a brick – I could have, possibly should have, been number SEVEN. 

SEVEN.

My addiction to Opiate pain meds could have ended my life in any number of possible ways.  If an overdose had not killed me (especially as Fentanyl had started working its way into the Opiates being sold on the street), it could have been me wrecking my truck as I sped to meet another dealer.  The most likely cause of me being number seven however, would have been by ending my l own life as the shame, guilt and depression were all choking the life out of me.

Thankfully the Connecticut State Police Major Crimes Squad arrested me on February 14, 2016, and by doing so saved my life.   I am sure that I would have been number SEVEN had they not. 

So here I am in this banquet room.  Looking and remembering our six lost classmates and wondering how I was not number seven.  It brought me back to another number that I have come across in my work. 

29,200.

29,200 is how many days we get based on living to age 80. 

29,200 seems like a lot.  It really isn’t when you sit and think on it.  Take out a third for sleep, we are down to under 20k.  If you are 40 years old, you are halfway through and now down to about 9700 days.   A 50-year-old has just under 6000 days left.  Take away more for work and the days continue to be whittled away.   Unfortunately for me and my family, my failures led to losing an extra 2173 precious days behind bars.   

While away I was reminded about something Muhammad Ali said, “Don't count the days, make the days count.” 

Our days are so limited, each one a gift.  Roger Scruton, in his book On Human Nature says to “Accept our being as a gift—it has been bestowed on us, and this bestowal is the primary act of creation.”

The gift, at some point, will be returned to the universe as we will all die, plain and simple. 

It can be daunting to think about our impending end as living human beings – but we must.   

With PERSPECTIVE, it can liberate us for the days we have left.  Fight for each day you get, as there will be only so many.  Take the blessings, the lessons learned, difficulties presented, opportunities granted.  Cherish every day you are gifted and make every day count. 

Death is something concrete.  It is a meeting that has been arranged on our behalf and one that none of us can cancel. This is the existential reality of the human condition.

With PERSPECTIVE we can come to see however that it is impending death that gives our lives meaning. To know you are going to die and to know your days are limited opens the possibility of living each day for greatness.   We are not here for a lengthy amount of time, so make it a good time.

Dan Brown, in The Lost Symbol; “Only through the death experience could man fully understand his life experience.  Only through the realization that his days on earth were finite could he grasp the importance of living these days with honor, integrity and service to his fellow man.”

If you only had one shot to get everything you want, would you take it?  Of course!  This is your only shot, your only go-around at life.  It might well be that this short life is the only one we are given.  That is unless you believe in reincarnation, and you are sure that you are not coming back as a house plant or a bumble bee or something like that.

There is a concept I have been working on and trying to build it into my own life.  The concept is simple; try to live life as there may be only two weeks left. 

This concept came to me after reading a wonderful novel entitled The Man Who Died by Finnish author Antti Tuomainen.  The protagonist, learning of his early death to come in just a couple of weeks after he was poisoned, begins to act with a new sense of urgency.  He begins to LIVE like never before.

I ask you—if God forbid you were told that you only had weeks left, what actions would you take?  How would you act?  Who would you approach to meet?  What bucket list items would be undertaken?  Are there people that you need to mend fences with, or atone for anything?  You would no doubt, like Tuomainen's main character start living with a new sense of urgency, right? 

Hopefully it’s more than two weeks for us.  But even if it all goes well, our days are still limited and finite.  

The clock is ticking folks. In his epic poem The Odyssey, Homer reminds us “Men live for only but a little season”.

You will die.  Make peace with this fact.  Radically accept it.  Then LIVE!

For all of us, 29,200 is down just a few thousand days. 

My advice, make them count.

Many thanks to Jen, Peter, Rich, Juandalynn & Kim for your work putting our reunion together and being so warm and encouraging me to be there.

Love and appreciation to Mac & Jeanna for holding my hand.  You are amazing.

In memory of our six classmates: Brian Broderick, James Cole, Terrance Daniels,

Michael Fiero, Todd Harris and Paula Bowling.

You are all missed.  You are all loved and remembered.  Rest in peace.