Six Months to Live--and Laugh
On the day a woman learns she has only a short time to live, she meets someone who shows her the humorous side.
Her name was Melody. After introductions, I was seated in an adjustable chair, leaned back against a sink, and felt water and shampoo fingered onto my scalp. Then, before I could change my mind, I said, "I've just been told that I'm going to die." Her fingers stilled immediately. She said nothing for a moment, so I added, "I'll have to call in hospice." Then I sat quietly, waiting. When her fingers started working again, I felt the muscles in my neck become tense. What was she going to say?
You can have three months or five or nine, but you can't have six."
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"Hospice, huh? You're telling me you've got six months to live?" I opened my mouth to speak but didn't have time before she continued. "You can't have six months. That's mine. You can have three months or five or nine, but you can't have six."
For the second time that day, I was too surprised to speak. She finished rinsing my hair and pushed a knob on the chair that allowed me to sit up-and just kept talking. I began to laugh.
"I get lots of free lunches out of that six-month prognosis. My kids treat me great too. The other day my granddaughter said, 'Don't say that, Grandma. It might be bad luck.' I said, 'Well, someday it's going to be true. Then won't you be glad you were nice to me all those years?" I was laughing out loud now, and it felt wonderful
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