That Time I Died So I Could Live by Pixie Sue Schmid

Twenty years ago I was in a weird holding period. I had a large lump in my breast. I had known for about a week. I also knew I had my yearly pap smear appointment on January 16, so I was talking myself down. I was telling myself, “I don't know enough to panic.” The next month and a half were filled with that mantra. Then I knew I had stage 1 lymphoma. I’m not going to lie. I panicked a little.

The truth is I was never close to dying. I knew I would come out on the other side. So I laughed. I made jokes. I made it not serious. The truth I can say now is I was terrified. There was so much at 22 I had not done.

Twenty years later I have a lot to think about. There is still so much I haven’t done. I haven’t left the US. I have more traveling to do. Yet I still have the same conclusion. Whenever I die is when I die. Before that, I know I have indeed lived. No matter the life or the amount of time given, there will always be things left unsaid, things left undone, books left half read. There will never be true closure. That is okay.

For all the things that I haven’t done, there are all the things I have. I danced in the rain. I took a chance on a stranger. I smiled. I have given and I have received. I have spread joy. I have changed people’s perceptions. I have given the world the best of me. My child will always be the very best of me. I have lived true to myself. In the end that is enough.

So I lift my glass to the 7305 bonus days I have been given. I lift my glass to every one of those that could have not happened. So hug someone. Love your fellow humans. Say something nice to yourself. Life can suck but we have each other and we have laughter.

Pixie Sue Schmid, a ‘99 graduate of DHS, thrilled me by agreeing to be a guest columnist. Jammie, as she was known then, lived here from 1991 - 2000 with her dad Ray Schmid and grandma Mary Ellen Schmid. Pixie and her daughter now live in Cincinnati.

This appeared in the 1/25/2023 issue of the PN.