If Tomorrow

If Tomorrow Were My Last Day on Earth

If tomorrow were my last day on earth, I would hop a plane to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, to see his face one last time. I would arrive even before the care package that I mailed today with the snow boots and granola bars. Goldfish crackers, envelopes of hot cocoa, a chapstick and mint milano cookies. And the ten dollar bill ~ not a lot of cash, but cheerful and heartening taped to one of the cocoa envelopes, Alexander Hamilton’s face side up.

I imagined his face, Michael’s, as he opened the box to investigate the small pleasures. Imagined his smile when he found the ibuprofen for his aching knees tucked into one boot. His aching- to- reach- his-goal knees. Skiing one hundred days in one Wyoming winter. And after he opened the box, dug into the goldfish, thumbed through the book, White Heat, A Memoir of an Extreme Skiing Life~ I imagined him reaching into the back pocket of his jeans for his cell phone to text (no one calls anymore, voices are rare), to text, “Hey Mom, got the package. You’re the best.” And reading it on my cell phone, I would smile to think of his.

He’s good to his mother. I have over seventy sea glass marbles to prove it. Marbles that he made a game of finding, on a rocky New England beach one summer. They jumped into the palm of his hand every day as if skipping to a magnet. His charm convinces the sea to give up her treasures. The cranky cat, Jack, purrs and sleeps on his bed. Teachers and employers write recommendations that sound like fan letters. And he, just throwing himself into every game with 100% commitment and 100% goodwill, keeps racking up the points.

I might say that games are Michael’s passion. Baseball. Soccer. Nintendo. Touch football. Whiffle ball. Hockey. Playstation. Golfing. Fly fishing. Surfing. Skiing. But it’s more than that. It’s wrestling challenge to the ground. It’s not knowing, and then learning, and then mastering. Right now, he’s looking to master a mountain.

If tomorrow were my last day on earth, I would have to see his crooked smile in person one more time. Look into his blue eyes – like a husky dog’s in color, but open and trusting. Filled with curiosity. Happiness. I would be under strict orders from my mother’s heart, to see his handsome face. Run my fingers through his unruly hair and hug his lanky, lean frame. He would give me back a sure and certain hug with no self-consciousness, and a sweet kiss hello, truly glad to see me.

We would talk with ease about how he is having this amazing experience. Skiing the life of his dreams. We would visit, in his tiny room at Hostel X, looking out over the Continental Divide, and he would answer all my questions about his new life. As I listened, watching his animated face, his excitement would become my excitement. Even I, as his mother, would have to put aside my fears for his safety, fears of avalanches and broken limbs ~ and would be thrilled to hear of the jumps he nails, the crevices he leaps.

He would introduce me to the new friends he is making at the resort ~ and I would see, as they shook my hand, and talked of Michael, that they had already discovered he was something special. I would be proud, as I always have been, to be his mother. Proud when he was left in charge of catering functions at a small country club when he was a teenager. Proud when he went to San Diego without a job, and without knowing anybody, found employment in an engineering firm, and was invited to the boss’ house for Thanksgiving dinner. Proud when he maintained a 3.3 GPA at Northeastern University. Proud when he set off to Wyoming to live a four month dream of an adventure. Proud that he took me seriously, when I taught him to follow his passions.

Michael’s energy is, for me, all about joy, and if tomorrow were my last day on earth, I would have to get one more hit of that joy just in case there is no after life, and I wasn’t going to get another chance to hear his gravelly voice and his boyish laugh. I would hop a plane to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, wait at the bottom of a mountain covered with three feet of powered snow, to catch my son at the end of one of his runs, and lure him away for a brief visit. Not too long, after all, with only one day left on earth. Just long enough to imprint his face upon my heart before I leave.