It’s hard to even imagine what it’s like to learn you don’t have much time left.
Caring
When I got the terminal diagnosis, my world flipped—not because of what would happen to me, but because of my mom, who’s starting to lose her battle with dementia. I’m her only family; I have no siblings. She’s seventy now, and since the women in our family tend to live long (my grandmother and aunts made it to 90), she could still have 30 years ahead. But I won’t be here even a year from now. So my bucket list has just one goal: to save enough money to place her in a good care home. Time’s tight, but if I work hard, I believe I can make it happen.
Taking the Leap
At 68, my family thinks I’m crazy, but my one wish is to try bungee jumping. I’ve always wanted to, but I was scared the cord might snap and I’d die. Well, now I don’t have to worry about that—if I fall, I’ll only be shortening my life by a few months anyway.
Making Peace
I want to make peace with my dad. We haven’t spoken in four years over a stubborn disagreement (we’re both strong-willed and proud, unfortunately). Before I go, I want to hug him one last time.
Origins
I’ve always known I was adopted and it never bothered me, but now that the end feels close, I’m curious about my roots. I’ve accepted death, but I want to know where I came from, who my biological parents are, and why I was given up. I want to find them.
The City of Love
I’ve always dreamed of going to Paris. It seems it took a terminal diagnosis to finally start planning. It’s not easy, and I’ll be very weak by then, but my family promised I’ll see the Eiffel Tower before I die.
The Match
I want to go to a Barcelona game. Barca has always been my favorite team, and seeing them score live would make my life complete.
In the Saddle
I want to ride an elephant. I’m almost bedridden now, so traveling is tough. My family is trying to arrange something with a nearby zoo.
The List
When I got my diagnosis, I wrote a long list and managed to cross off everything except one thing. I don’t even know why I suddenly wrote down “kiss in the rain,” but that wish still sits at the bottom of my list. I’m in the hospital now and know I won’t go home again, but my cousin has a handsome boyfriend I’ve met briefly. He kindly offered to kiss me in the rain, and I gratefully said yes. Now we’re just waiting for a rainy day—and spring is here, so storms are coming soon.
The View
Climbing has always been my hobby—there’s nothing like standing on a mountain peak and taking in the breathtaking view. I can’t climb rock walls anymore because I move with difficulty, but my friends are planning to take me up my favorite summit one last time to enjoy my favorite view.
Confession
It started with headaches, but I’ve always had headaches, so I didn’t pay much attention. By the time I finally saw a doctor, it was too late. My brain tumor can’t be operated on, and there’s not much left to do. I won’t undergo painful treatments just to extend my dying by weeks or months. I’ve had a good life. As a single 45-year-old woman, I don’t feel like I have many unfinished things—I’ve made peace with my fate. There’s only one thing left I can’t bring myself to do: tell my loved ones that I’m sick and won’t be here much longer. My parents are only 65 and in great health; the news will break their hearts. My sister and best friend will also be deeply affected since we’re in daily contact. I’m just not ready to tell them we don’t have much time together.
