Damn Oprah Winfrey and her movies.
I was sitting in my chair tonight, working on embroidery for some Christmas gifts, and the TV was on. An advertisement for a movie based on Mitch Albom’s book For One More Day came on. It is the story of a man whose mother, who has passed on, comes back for one more day to help him get his life straightened out, I guess.
The preview made me tear up; I’m thinking I won’t be watching the movie. But I kept thinking about the idea of “one more day.” There’s a thread at the widow board asking what people would do if they could have their beloved back for one more day. I have to say, as much as I would love to have him back for one more day, losing him a second time might well kill me. But nonetheless, I’d risk it.
I would tell him I loved him; but he knows that. What I’d really want to do is ask him “Why?” Why did he have to go? Why then? Why so soon in our time together?
I’d ask him if he knew he was sick. I’d ask him about what he’s doing now, and if he’s happy. I’d ask him if all the signs I’ve attributed to him were correctly read. I’d ask him if he truly is always with me, and if he hears me playing my guitar for him. I’d ask him why he can’t come more often. I’d ask him if my dog is with him and if he’s with his parents. I’d ask him if he was okay with the way I’ve dealt with his family, and if he had any other advice for me on that front, or in general. I’d hold him close to me and listen. And I’d videotape the whole day so that I could replay it exactly, so that I could hear his voice again, so that I could know I didn’t just imagine the whole thing.
I wonder if I could stop myself from begging him not to go? Somehow, I doubt it. I also doubt that it’s a good idea to entertain such thoughts. Because now I need a Kleenex.