Lemir, my best friend from grade school, died a few weeks ago from a brain tumor.  He developed a tumor at age 15, which was removed by one of the world’s top pediatric neurosurgeons at the time (Ben Carson).  However, side-effects from the radiation caused an inoperable tumor more than a decade later.

Lemir was the best friend one could ask for: honest, trustworthy, and a great listener.  Growing up, we were like two peas in a pod.  Lemir was the perfect balance to my spastic, impulsive self: quiet, reflective, the ever present voice in the back of my mind.  To this day, it came as a surprise to many that we were friends at all.

In the past few months, we had numerous talks, which unfortunately degraded over time, because he lost his short-term memory, so we repeated the same conversation every day for the past month.  It was great to talk to him, so even if I knew the stories and the endings, it was the great Lemir, with his sense of humor, his fears, and his overly analytical mind.  One thing that struck me at the end was his desire to finish dreams left undone.  Lemir had been too cautious growing up, as only one who’s life has been on the edge can be.  And he often shook his head in disapproval to my constant need to explore, travel, and see.  In the past few months, he told me– when I get better I want to see the world with you; I want to take a cruise, strap on a backpack, ride a bike.

We all have regrets, and a hundred years are not enough to live.  There’s a great many things Lemir did, that I haven’t done yet (and may never do).  I’ve yet to learn to be as good friend as he was, to laugh with full lungs, to accept others the way they are, or impact others the way only he could.    But at the same time, Lemir’s last weeks were a wake up call.  You only get one chance; so live your life and make it count.

The last few weeks’ occurrences have Yano and I hashing and rehashing our trip– we leave in 10 days for India.  Should we skip India altogether?  Should we hop on the first flight to Nepal, Thailand, or Vietnam, once there?  Should we stick to small towns in northern India?  Or should we stay at home safe and sound?

Although the last option is highly unlikely, whatever the end result, I’m hoping we can choose to live a life with few regrets, as Thoreau once said– to live deliberately.

Life is short; make it wide.