A few months ago, one of my college roommates invited me to spend some time with her in Ireland this summer. She would be co-teaching an Irish literature class in Dublin and guiding 11 students around on a multi-week tour. There was a spare bedroom in the campus house where she’d be staying. If I could spring for the flight and my own meals, I’d have a free place to stay and the chance to reconnect with a dear friend I’ve only seen sporadically over the last 34 years.
She was my procrastinator-in-chief during my time at Luther College, pulling all-nighters with me to write our English papers, where we’d take turns propping the door of the computer lab open so it wouldn’t lock us out after the office hours ended at midnight. One of us would run back to the dorm to round up coffee and snacks while the other would type furiously on page five of an 18-page essay paper that had been assigned weeks ago but was due the next morning. I was always impressed she continued on to graduate school and got her doctorate in literature, obviously buckling down and getting many more assignments done in a timely manner in the years ahead. Maybe I had been a bad influence. I also secretly wondered if she could recognize procrastinators in her classroom now, having been so talented at pulling off last-minute writing assignments in her younger days.
I loved the thought of spending some time reconnecting with her, traveling around Dublin, and learning more about Irish literature along with her students. But I’ve heard the old adage of “guests and fish stink after three days” so I also booked a few days in London to visit a friend who has an apartment there.
I was in the parking lot of Fry’s when I pulled up her note, telling me her husband had gone to the hospital, had a clot in his lung and after more tests, they found some tumors. She wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, he was back at work being stoic and maybe she’d still be able to go on the trip.
I called her on the phone from the parking lot to find out how she was doing and learn more about what had happened to her husband. For a little while, we pretended nothing would likely change in the weeks ahead. But deep down, I think we both knew it would. It just wasn’t time to say it yet.
After another week, the reality of being half a world away while her husband was going through a health crisis sunk in and she pulled out of teaching the class. I would have done the same. Cancer doesn’t give you time to procrastinate.
I’m leaving for Dublin this Sunday. I’ll be staying at Trinity College in a dorm room, and I’m going to check out some of the places she wanted to go. I’ll also search diligently to find two four-leaf clovers to send back to her and her husband for luck in the months ahead. I’ll probably raise a glass of Guinness beer in their honor and send up a toast to better health. I’m hopeful I will be able to fly up north to visit them and share a few stories of my adventures in person someday soon.
It’s bittersweet, taking a trip I wouldn’t be on if it wasn’t for her invitation. I’m grateful for the chance to explore a country I’ve never been to, and to reconnect with my other friend in London. It’s a huge reminder to me to appreciate what I’ve been given and make the most of it, because tomorrow is never guaranteed.
Kelly Paradis is the community liaison for Good Samaritan Society Home Health, Hospice and Marley House and also serves as Prescott Evening Lions Club president. She loves listening to and writing stories about life.