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FIRST WAS THE VOICE of my father’s friend. Then a policeman came on the line. While riding his bicycle, my 75-year-old father had been struck and killed by a speeding driver.
That was 2009. There were no goodbyes. Instead, seared into my memory are the photograph I was shown at the hospital, so I could identify my father’s body, and the details in his final medical report, which I never should have read.
My death will be far different. I’ve been given the time to straighten out my financial affairs, savor some last experiences, spend time with friends and family, and set HumbleDollar on a course that I hope will ensure it continues to thrive.
Needless to say, my version of death seems preferable. Like everybody else, I have a finite lifespan, but mine involves far less uncertainty. My truncated time has brought into sharp focus what’s important and what isn’t. I refuse to spend my remaining time being angry about my cancer diagnosis, or feeling cheated, or wondering why I got the defective cancer-causing gene, or bouncing from one cancer center to another in search of a cure that doesn’t exist.
Instead, I’m determined to make the most of every day, doing what I love and trying mightily to fend off life’s nonsense. It’s an attitude I recommend to readers—one I’d encourage you to embrace now, rather than waiting for a dire medical prognosis. We should never forget that our most precious resource isn’t money, but time.
I’m no fan of motivational speeches and feel-good pop psychology. Still, at this moment, I’m willing to embrace one piece of bumper-sticker wisdom: Happiness is a choice. It’s highly likely that my days will draw to a close within the next few years—for those with my diagnosis, the median life expectancy is 16 months—and there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it, other than follow the treatment plan, eat healthily and continue to exercise. But I can strive to make the most of the days I’m granted.
So, what do I mean by “choosing happiness”? No, I’m not angling to have some laughs and a few drinks with buddies. Rather, I have a vision of the future that I want to see fulfilled. I want to die knowing I’ve built something—a sound future for my two kids, a good life for Elaine, and a solid path forward for HumbleDollar. If I can put the necessary pieces in place, I’ll be happy.
Crazy as it sounds, Elaine and I are even exploring remodeling the upstairs bathroom, with all the disruption that’ll be involved. It’s something we discussed before my diagnosis. I’d love to get the work done for Elaine’s sake, plus the feeling of accomplishment would make me happy. Yes, despite the late hour, making progress still gives me a profound sense of satisfaction.
Even as I strive to make the most of the here and now, sadness occasionally creeps in. I find myself pondering the retirement years I won’t have with Elaine, or how my three-year-old grandson will have scant memory of me, or how I’ll be nothing but a photograph to his newborn younger brother. Such moments sometimes hit me in the early morning, when I’m alone in the basement, spinning away on the stationary bicycle, the tears mixing with the sweat.
Moments of irritation also occasionally creep in. Soon after I got my diagnosis, it seemed the insurance company was dragging its feet, taking far too long to approve my treatment plan. I was bothered by the delay. But mostly, I was bothered that this bothered me—that I was wasting time being angry at some lumbering, unresponsive insurance company. That meant a day that wasn’t as good as it could be.
Still, despite the brief moments of sadness and irritation, the days seem pretty good right now. I’m continuing to work hard to keep HumbleDollar chugging along and to prep the site for a future without me. I’m spending more time with Elaine and my kids. I’m feeling mostly fine and, indeed, my only major complaints are the disrupted sleep that accompanies the steroids I’m taking and the fatigue caused by the chemotherapy.
I’m hoping this happy state will last for at least another year, but there are no guarantees. What about when the end comes? It’s hard to know what it’ll be like—which part of my body will give way, how much discomfort and pain will be involved, and how clear my thinking will be at that juncture. Still, in my wishful thinking, I have a mental picture of how it’ll play out.
After decades of pushing myself far too hard, I like to think I’ll gracefully acknowledge that cancer has the upper hand. And that’s when I’ll cut myself some slack, I’ll give in to the morphine offered by the hospice nurse and I’ll drift off, finally getting the sleep my body hungers for. Reality, of course, will be far messier. But this is the story I tell to comfort myself.
Jonathan Clements is the founder and editor of HumbleDollar. Follow him on X @ClementsMoney and on Facebook, and check out his earlier articles.
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It is allways interesting to see how people attack a diagnosis like that and how they choose to react. Yours is admirable. It reminds of a book I read long ago called Tuesdays with Maury. And if a miracle does not arrive in time your courage and outlook is truly inspirational for the rest of us staring your fate in the future. God Bless
Obviously not on your list of goals, but I hope you find some sense of accomplishment educated and inspiring me and others with posts like this. Thanks you.
I am so, so sorry to read this Jonathan
Thank you for your bravery in sharing this
I often read your columns & am very grateful for all that you shared
My best wishes to you & your family during this very difficult time
Such a wake up call. Thank you.
Many before have already expressed my sentiments. The only thing I will add is thanks for having the courage to take us on this very personal journey of yours. It is one we will all face at some point. Now your website had gone beyond providing financial life. It is now about how to live your life.
After my husband died unexpectedly, I was upset at each subsequent day that took him further away from our family. I wondered how to keep him close and create a sense of his ongoing presence in our lives. I started with this idea: “Near to us in memories of our time together, sharing our dreams and often seeing them come true.”
Every family finds its own way, and you will be a part of your grandchildren’s lives and memories, most intimately in the hundreds of stories prompted by things or pictures that remain. Your life, your choices, your values, will shape them as much as their parents’ directives. Has not this always been so, grandparents and grandchildren?
Whenever friends asked us, “What can I do to help?” I’d say, “Tell me a story about you and him.” I put out a blank book at the gym where he’d played basketball for decades, and asked the players to leave a story. Another friend painted a portrait of him. Everyone has contributed to the richness of his life story being shared forward. I also made the kids each a special card, just for them, that compiled a handful of photos together, the two of them, that is, not a collective memory, each of us has our own piece of his world, just like you and each of your grandchildren.
Of my husband, he’s most real in recalling things he said and did, or moments that got captured on film, or a text message, or a bit of video.
I have a voicemail from him, laughing with the kids in the background, where he’s telling me what they’re eating at Mel’s and the songs on the jukebox, and not to worry about picking up something on my way home, they’d bring me leftovers. He’d called a few months before this happened and I just hadn’t recently cleared out old messages from my cell phone. I have a photo of him and the twins at a celebratory lunch out after sixth grade graduation. A ten-second video of him with the kids returning from an errand in a golf cart at a resort, laughing and waving as they see me filming on my cell phone. A drawing one of the kids made of him singing in the car on the way to dropping them off at school. All are precious now.
We’ve made a point of bringing him along on the rest of our journey in this world. Your family will do so as well.
Today I took flowers to my husband’s grave with one of the kids, I do this most weeks, but she’s rarely come along. Today she said, “It’s kind of a strange question, hope you don’t mind, but when you die, do you want to be buried here, too? I see a lot of the stones have two names on them.” So much better than a Letter in the Box of What To Do, a spontaneous discussion.
And I’m in the camp for remodeling the bathroom, yes!
Catherine, it sounds like you missed your husband. I like your passionate comment especially the end about visiting the cemetery. My condolences!
Jonathan, your transparency is so inspirational and instructional! As I read other comments about creating a video message for your grandchildren, I commend that idea. With our three oldest sons, I was able to video my mother’s message of congratulations to them which we played at their high school graduation celebration. As I videoed her message for the third son, she grew weary of my request, so I asked her if she would go ahead and share a message with my younger two sons which I would just hold until the time of their graduation, and I would not ask to record her again. She agreed. She died the following year, with complications from a broken hip. I played her video message for my two younger sons, 4 and 8 years later. What a precious time for them as they saw her face and heard her message to them. I think it would give you joy to create a message for your grandchildren and remind THEM of the joy they bring you, and of the hopes and dreams you have for them. I think it will bring THEM joy in the future as they speak of your influence, even in your absence.
Hi Jonathan, thanks for this piece and sharing your mindset. I like and admire your attitude of choosing happiness. Wish you strength and happine each day!
Dear Jonathan,
I want to say thank you for a lifetime of thoughtful personal financial advice. You and I are almost exactly the same age and I started reading the Wall St. Journal at the age of 30 right around the time you started writing for it. I read your columns constantly for decades and took many of your recommendations. Today my wife and I are retired (mostly) and comfortable if not wealthy. Oddly enough, I just found out that I too have cancer!
Your writing continues to engage and inspire me and others with its candor and its unflinching understanding of the human condition. You’ve made a measurable difference with your work. Isn’t that what we all hope for? I hope that the time you have remaining is more than you expect and that whatever it is, is filled with love and meaning and little discomfort.
Thanks for the kind words — and good luck with your treatment!
Jonathan, I continue to be in awe of your grace and poise, and truly appreciate how you are still able to pass on your wisdom. Thank you. Stay strong, and know you are surrounded by people who admire you, your attitude, and your thoughts.
Jonathan, given that life offers us so much in the way of interesting pursuits, you have chosen to continue your accomplishments and have taken responsibility for your happiness. Is a creative individual keep reminding yourself that creative expression is the natural inclination of life..
Continue doing the things you love.
Jonathan,
This is one of the most impactful articles I have read in HD. I have thought about the end of life a lot, but this brings everything in sharp focus. You have been a great mentor for every stage in life including the last. Thank you.
I am sure you are doing all the right things. This article says you are!
https://medium.com/@meganjohnsonshen/the-number-one-thing-the-dying-say-is-most-important-to-focus-on-in-life-2766c841a9cf
God bless you, my friend; thank you for all your wisdom and support
Jonathan,
I am a long time reader and keenly interested in personal finance and retirement planning. First, thank you for sharing your journey and I hope your time with your family and this website brings you comfort. Secondly, on a personal note, you have given me pause, to stop and reach out to disconnected friends and family members. I wanted to let you know, just like a teacher, you are making a difference in the lives others. Thank you for all that you do.
Thank you for Humble Dollar, and especially for these articles regarding your cancer diagnosis. I have begun working on a “digital estate” for my family. All other estate details were taken care of many years ago (upon retirement). I credit you with the nudge
Thanks for a wonderful article. Vicky read it first as we drove to our beach house this morning. She loved the Happiness is a Choice line, and it lead to a good discussion over lunch. We weee happy to agree that the majority of our family and friends were people who seemed to choose happiness.
With the amazing courage and grace my wife possesses, and some help from hospice I feel we were able to give our 4 parents the peaceful passing you envision. Three of them were in our home, surrounded by generations of family and beloved dogs. There was certainly sadness, but also a tremendous feeling of family, love, and peace. I think your openness with your family will help them deal with things along the journey. I wish you peace.
Jonathan, thank you for continuing to write about your diagnosis, your treatment, and how you’re dealing with it all.
There are so many here who care about you, and I’m glad you’re generously sharing this experience with us. As always, there is much to learn from your well chosen words.
Oops! Thank you for everything you write (not right)!
Thank you for everything you right. You lead by example and inspire us to ponder our own future and how best to live our lives. I wish you the very best.
Jonathan, a brilliant perspective as always, and warmest thoughts on your attitude towards this catastrophe.
I too was able to keep a positive mien following my year-to-live diagnosis, and like you I rejected the feelings of anger, betrayal and desperation that I saw so often in my fellow patients at the infusion center. Maintaining that attitude was good for me, of course, but it was a huge gift to my wife, who never saw me angry or gloomy or fearful. It lightened the burden of her own dread. I am certain that you are giving the same gift to your family, and it will be a memory they can fall back on when they are struggling with bereavement.
I derived the same comfort that you do in thinking about about a peaceful ending. I grilled every doctor I had on their willingness to provide assistance for my departure. They were all fully on board with my choosing my own moment to exit. That I never got to that point was due to the timely approval of then-new immunotherapy treatments, which worked far beyond even the most optimistic expectations of my doctors.
My biggest struggle, as I close in on eight years in remission, remains survivor’s guilt. I cannot think back on all those other stage 4 patients I met in treatment without breaking down, knowing they never got the miracle I got. You and I will never meet, but I know I will feel the same about you. I am fighting tears as I write this.
With all my heart, I wish you continued peace and comfort.
Thank you for continuing to write about your journey. I doubt my attitude would be so positive. I second those asking for a book of collected articles and hope that the HumbleDollar community can keep your vision alive. Hope the bathroom upgrade works out.
The pain is what I think about. While I couid have at least another 5 years, and possibly even as many as 10 if I get lucky, I occasionally dwell upon how the end will happen.
As far as I know, there’s no cure for stage 4 and while we’ve all seen and read about the new possibilities for curing cancer over the years, we still don’t have a cure for cancer. Remission in some (maybe more than some depending upon the type you have) cases, but it tends to come back. I am optimistic that a cure will be found, eventually.
My plan for the pain that comes near the end is to go out with a bang! It’s also easier on the budget and I have to remember my wife plans to live forever.
The only question is whether I will have the guts to do it!
I cannot agree with Mike any more strongly. I saw firsthand the results of a family member that decided to “ go out with a bang” . That haunted me for decades. Have the guts not to. Your family will thank you. This is an incredibly personal subject for me.
Don’t do that, sir. The sight of you will be seared into your wife’s memory forever, a horror she will replay time after time. Take the drink or the needle and go peacefully to sleep so she can hold you as you depart and remember you as you are, rather than blown apart.
Thank you, Jonathan, for this column–and all your recent reflections on your health situation. I appreciate your combination of wisdom, practicality and humility as you plan for your future. Though I’ve mostly been a lurker on the site, your writings have been helpful to me for a long time. I admire the generosity of your spirit and the wealth of your contributions. Having experienced cancer four times and now living without my stomach and part of my esophagus, I know that, despite our best intentions and hopes, there are still those “tears and sweat” moments you shared with us. May God bless you and yours and grant you strength and grace for all that is ahead. Warm regards.
Jonathan, At the risk of suggesting something obvious, I would give anything to have a letter from my grandfather, or great grandfather, just to me, telling me whatever he thought I should know about him, my family history and the wisdom he acquired over the years, tailored just to me. Thanks and like many others here, I overwhelmed by your gifts to us of your writing during this time, it is truly priceless. My God bless you richly here and beyond.
Of course none of us know how our days will end, but you are setting an example that I would hope to emulate if I can. Thank you for sharing.
Your advice is of course very good and you share thoughts with courage. It must be some solace to have a vehicle to have your voice heard. Thousands of people die everyday with equal courage, but with a very small or no audience. Perhaps, you speak for all of them and all of us when our time comes. Letting ordinary people share their journey is the real value of the HumbleDollar.
Not being there for my loved ones who need me is the greatest worry of my demise. I have a special needs grandson and he and my daughter will need all the help they can get for the rest of their lives, which will most likely outlast mine.
My Dad died of cancer at 53 and although we don’t get to choose I would prefer to go out like your Dad. Best to prepare now and everyday for the end. Don’t assume that there will be a tomorrow to show your love.
In May, my son who works in Los Angeles was flying into Chicago for business. I proposed that I drive up from Indiana to have dinner with him the night before his business meeting started. I also proposed that I drive to Wisconsin to retrieve his two grandmothers and drive back down to Chicago for a special dinner, because who knows how many more times such a thing would be possible.
Was it worth more than 11 hours of driving on my part to make this dinner happen? Less than three months later one of the grandmothers is no longer with us. I’d do it again in a minute.
Whenever someone floats that idea of “What four people would you invite to dinner,” people list four historical figures, great thinkers, and influential statesmen. I always say “My dad, father-in-law and two grandfathers.” I would love to have an evening with them.
There’s a reason the saying “Carpe Diem” has lasted millennia.
I never met my paternal grandfather, by all accounts a sweet, gentle man of iron will who was tormented by the memories of his medical heroism in World War II.
I would invite him alone.
Jonathan, I remember chatting with our aunt many years ago and she asked me if I was happy. I told her, feeling somewhat uncertain, that I thought I was to which she replied that one is never truly happy, a statement which made me think more deeply into what does happiness look like to me. As many HD readers know it’s a subject you have written about frequently. The answer, which at times felt intangible and out of reach, has become more clear as I get older. Each individual has their own idea of happiness and it’s one that you discover on your own. I find it irritating when told that I should do this or that as if that person knows what will make me happy! I’ve always known that it doesn’t come from material goods and having all the money in the world. For me happiness comes from being home, spending time with family and friends, walking in nature, volunteering, helping others, etc. and putting aside as best I can anxieties that use to keep me awake at night. All quite simple things that have little to do with money or material goods and that I think will find my days fulfilled. Nothing too complicated, the way it should be.
When it comes to happiness, I agree that we’re overly focused on money. It’s an easy yardstick to latch on to, because it comes with such precision, and it gets over emphasized on social media and by corporate marketers. But to me, having money is mostly about avoiding unhappiness and being able to live life without fretting endlessly about financial issues.
In terms of finances, you just gave a wonderful definition of what “enough” means. Perhaps income and wealth get disproportionate attention because they are easily quantifiable; net worth gives us our “score”. But as Einstein said, or may have said, “Not everything that can be counted counts and not everything that counts can be counted”. Common sense tells us just how true this is!
I worked hard to accumulate sufficient funds for retirement and so this has taken away a source of worry but with that said some of the happiest people I know have very little money.
I eagerly wait for each of your columns. My mother is currently 96 and my dad died at 92. But I lost two brothers to cancer at age 64 and 68 and nearly lost a niece with three kids at 46 to cancer as well. The strange part was cancer didn’t really run in our family and these three led extremely healthy lives with no smoking, very little drinking and were actually thin. One brother had never been sick in his life if you can believe that up until he got cancer. Yet it came. My greatest wish is if it comes for me that I can be as strong as you are. It makes it so much easier on the family and I don’t want to unset them. You are truly amazing and I will remember you for as long as I live.
I’m so sorry to hear about all the loss you’ve endured. I hope you keep posting to HumbleDollar, and in particular to the Forum.
Jonathan, your courage and attitude are an inspiration. My hat is off to you. I have been absorbing and following your wisdom for so many years that I wish it could continue forever. I wonder if there is any opportunity to publish your writings in a collection. Maybe even the WSJ would allow you to document all the wonder insight you have provided. When you leave us your legacy will continue on long into the future. Thank you for providing such a positive influence on my life and many others.
There are various ideas for collections of my writing floating around. But nothing is set in stone.
Regarding your grandchildren … would it make sense to record videos of yourself with messages for your grandchildren to watch? Things like family stories, your life’s story, what it was like for you growing up as a child, what their parent(s) were like as kids, your hopes for them, maybe something as easy as you reading children’s stories to them? Tell them what they have meant to you.
I was going to suggest this, too. It’s a great idea.
This is a great idea. It’s something everyone should consider. I would give anything to have a recording or video of my grandfathers.
Yes, I agree, it’s a great idea.
Jonathan,
Thanks for continuing to write about your journey. You’ve mentioned your planning around your diagnosis but I have not heard about your healthcare planning. Many have a living will or a durable power of attorney for healthcare. You may wish to augment those documents with another document, the Five Wishes. It is designed to allow you to give very specific direction for the type of medical treatment you desire. It’s available at FiveWishes.org.
Feel your pain at the sad loss of your father. My Dad was also in hospice-at my home. He had no insurance. I relied on the limited, but kind assistance offered by our hospital. I saw the stages of deterioration. I kept my Dad happy by putting him beside the family room picture window overlooking our yard. I wired a PC in front of him tuned to a Sindhi TV station from Sindh, Pakistan(he was a Hindu refugee of the 1947 Partition of India). He also watched regular TV. With the dementia brought on by Parkinsons he recognized limited people outside us. One person he never failed to recognize: Each time Pres Obama came on TV, he would point excitedly and call out “President of the United States!”
Jonathan, I am humbled by the bravery and depth of this piece. I was about to send in an article to Forum, but it’s too shallow to post alongside what you wrote. Tomorrow will be soon enough. Today is a day to try and embrace the things you are trying to each us. Thank you for enriching my life.
Jonathan, not that I’m in a hurry to find out, but I’m hoping that your articles are being cemented into my psyche so that they will aid me both in the technical and the emotional aspects of my end of life planning.
Like many others, I marvel at your strength of purpose and dedication to your craft. My continuing best to you, your wife, children, immediate family, and all of those close to you.
Jonathan I’ve respected and admired your wisdom and common sense for a very long time. My respect and admiration only continues to grow. In my case, I lost my husband about 6 weeks ago. He died from ALS (Lou Gehrigs disease). In the final year of his life we also remodeled our home. Our plan was to make our home more accessible (roll-in shower, widen doorways, etc.) The construction process is one of my last and most precious memories. At that time he could still walk and talk and we enjoyed picking out tile, fixtures, etc. together. We were lucky enough to find a construction company that became almost like family. We were a little sad when the project ended. I think your decision to remodel is a very good one. The project wasn’t perfect, there were a few misunderstandings and mistakes but it kept my husband and I engaged. As a result I’ve become convinced that life is beautiful, all of it. The joy, the pain, the love, the arguments, the misunderstandings, etc. My final comment is that hospice was a blessing for us. The hospice team knew what it was doing and kept discomfort to a minimum. I wish you and your family only the best.
I’m so sorry to hear about your husband — and thanks for the encouragement on the construction project.
Jonathan, thank you so much for sharing your journey with us!! I know you have your finances in order and i pray that you also have your relationship with God in order. I hope you have asked Jesus to live in your heart so you can live forever in heaven. I look at it like an insurance policy, if God doesn’t exist, you have lost nothing but, if God and the afterlife does exist, you are covered. God speed my friend!!!
What beautiful insights Jonathan. When my husband faced a similar diagnosis, he, too, concentrated on work he wanted to complete and gatherings with family and friends. Yes, together we sought second and third opinions at Mayo and elsewhere, but the realities of the diagnosis meant that he focused on making the most of time the way he chose at home. And he chose to finish a remarkable historical panel for the Truman Library and to give remarks to local groups. Then, so many friends wanted to celebrate his birthday – knowing it to likely be a last tribute, he orchestrated a final program to cap a career of excellence in public programming (‘my pre-funeral, I want to be there.”). Given Henry’s personality the event of course became larger-than-life with a slate of speakers he chose (‘nope, not him’) and a full house. It was indeed a performance and I will say I went nuts helping behind-the-scenes – it was like hosting a wedding with folks coming in out of town and all logistics just after (our last) Christmas, while I was managing his palliative care team at home. Minutes before the event began, at the library where Henry led national programing, I couldn’t find him – he was upstairs greeting everyone in a line up and chatting away with all the time in the world. A roast and a celebration of friendship, professional admiration and love for a simply wonderful afternoon. Capped when our daughter and her high school friends, accomplished singers, performed “Over the Rainbow” (hey we’re in Kansas and yep it brought the house to tears). He chose his way- what a journey that year was.
Thanks for posting. It sounds like your husband’s final months were indeed a meaningful journey for him — and for you.
Thanks so much, Jonathan, for this reflection. It will stay with all of us who are part of the HD community, and who have come to know you, whether recently or since your WSJ days. When I drove to St. Louis earlier this summer (after visiting a relative in Philly), I enjoyed listening to you being interviewed on a podcast from some time past. Thanks for your words, spoken and written.
the five stages of loss are endemic to our lives…we start as tabula rosa and learn, the BIG lesson that we learn is our mortality and those around us having a shared fate.the existential realization…
to be here and now is more improbable than our minds can imagine….and to have the opportunity to enjoy that is again beyond comprehension.
the moments of comfort, serenity and hope are the rewards of a life well lived…proximately a good nights sleep tonight and the hope of a good night’s big sleep ultimately–so we’ll do our best.
Jonathan, I continue to admire you greatly. I doubt I would have the courage you display.
You write with almost certainty of the future the doctors predict and the time frame.
Surely they and you think something better is possible. Isn’t that why they prescribed the course of treatment and you chose to follow?
Otherwise our system seems very unfair and ineffective. It’s a process and choice I often think about seeing friends do the same.
I’ve thought a lot about these issues, Dick. But working for three years on the night shift at Memorial Sloan Kettering, when I became a nurse in my late 30’s really changed me. I came to see that those who had strong family ties and a strong faith in something, were better able to accept when their disease wasn’t curable. They came to have peace. I have great respect for those who try to live their best life but not to chase an elusive cure. That’s my plan if I’m fortunate enough to have any choice in the matter. And, of course, it’s different for me with grown children, my husband gone and my grandson soon to fly the nest. And, like any good HD reader, I’ve made sure that my kids know where I stand. 😊
There is no cure for my cancer, just a treatment plan that will — fingers crossed — postpone my death. The initial indications are I’ll get longer than most folks with my particular cancer, but longer may not be a whole lot longer.
The grace and peace with which you are dying is nothing short of extraordinary. Thank you for taking us on this journey with you.
My cancer is a slow one, but I just lost my sister to brain cancer and in spite of everything, she brought that life expectancy JC mentions down a little. There were some good memories, but mainly it was and is a great loss.
But I’m thinking right now about when I bought a house and finished the basement–partly myself with help from friends (some paid poorly and some not at all) and partly as a general contractor hiring (mostly) great workers and subcontractors. It was an unusual part of one of my biggest transitions–leaving the work I did the longest, that involved the most satisfaction and the biggest wounds. And, yes, I think it was for me a bit of therapy. While the people have feelings, wires, sheetrock, pipes, and insulation do not. And the progress was so incredibly visible. It’s been over a decade now and I still savor that unique journey and biggest project (well, of a mechanical nature).
I’m so sorry for the loss of your sister.
Your grace continues to overwhelm me.
What grace and goodwill. May you keep on living the good, Jonathan.
Carrying on with humility :). Thank Jon you for the rimiinder about time vs money and how important it is to live being joyful… as hard as it can be sometimes. Peace to you and yours.
Thank you, Jonathan. This helped me today. Chris
I hope when my time comes, I can face it with the same wisdom and dignity as you.
Jonathan,
As crazy as this sounds my wish for you in your final days is that you have mental clarity and the ability to communicate. Why do I address this? Of my family of six, three died within eighteen months of each other several years ago. They all had some form of dementia and were both incommunicative and did not recognize us for several months to several years prior to passing.
When the final hours came for my twin brother who died first at 59 I felt so sad that I could not know if he knew what was happening to him and how he felt about it, and that I could not tell him how much I loved him. Then I repeated this two additional times.
Since then as strange as it sounds I have hoped that when my time comes I have these two small blessings so I can communicate with my loved ones right up until the end.
Brilliant article. You’re a remarkable man.
Thank you for sharing your wisdom.
So sorry to hear the tragic end for your father Jonathan. Brings a tear to the eye.
You are indeed fortunate to have the time to put everything in order for your loved ones, to be sure everything goes to where you want it to go.
A reminder to the rest of us that we may not be so lucky and that now is the time to tie up all loose ends. At age 84, this writer is currently working with my estate attorney and tax account to do exactly that.
I admire your attitude and feel privileged to have read your writings.
John Harville
Berrien Springs, Michigan
Good morning, sir.
i agree happiness is a choice. Even with all just the normal frustrations of life, we can choose happiness.
We are doing some home remodeling as well and it definitely is a good distraction from everything else, and is very satisfying knowing we’re making solid improvements to the house.
I feel you will find someone with your passion to carry on this great resource! Thank you so much.
Jonathon, your plan of eating well and exercising along with the treatments sounds like the way to go to have an enjoyable life, short though it may be. The bathroom remodel doesn’t sound crazy to me at all. My house was built new 6 years ago for me and my daughter’s family. I have my “in-law suite” which is very comfortable and private when I want privacy. And I really, really enjoy it, perhaps more than any of the other 7 homes that I’ve own in my lifetime. Why? I’m not sure, but it could be because I had the final say in its design. It’s not extravagant at all. But I love it. So I feel you and Elaine will have that same opportunity to make something as private as your bathroom exactly how you want. And I believe that will make you both happy.
After posting this I felt I needed to give credit to the Amish builders who built our home. They really do their work perfectly.
Also, I’m struck by how much reaction this post has gotten already before 5 am. Wow.
“Happiness is a choice.” Great advice, which I really need to take to heart. Thanks Jonathan.
Jonathan, I’ve been reading your work since your WSJ days. You’re like an old friend. I’m going to miss you.
I’ve learned allot about investing and spending money over the years reading your posts and articles. Now I’ve learned a lesson in not wasting time. It’s true, time is most valuable and there’s very little we can do to earn more of it. I’m sorry to hear of your illness. I wish you the best and you are in my thoughts.
Jonathan, thank you for sharing your thinking along this path of your journey, which isn’t easy given such personal matters as confronting death in a way you never have before. There has always been a strong thread of happiness research in so many of your articles over the past decades. Now you get to teach about happiness “as a choice” while facing the difficult unknowns of the cancer lurking in your body as well.