if he had a bucket list

From Jodi:

There is an episode of Little House on the Prairie where a terminally ill boy’s dying wish is to see the ocean; he paints the ocean on canvas but has never seen it. When Laura and Albert hear of their friend’s diagnosis, they conspire to get him to the California coast by running away and hopping a train. The last scene shows the boy throwing off his blanket and blissfully running into the waves (all in slow motion, of course). These days we talk openly about having “bucket lists”—wishes or goals to achieve before we “kick the bucket.” Somehow we avoid the topic of death while doing so, but we do like to dream of all the things we’d like to do, hoping there will be time. Yesterday I ran across an article written by a mother of a severely ill child called “A Bucket List for my Baby.” In it, she writes,

I sat silently as a montage of all the things I hoped for my daughter scrolled through my head: I wanted her to smile, to talk, to ride a bike, to make a friend, to get married, to have her own daughter. I wanted her to have a life. I was making a bucket list for my daughter — a list of the most basic, most simple, and most beautiful experiences you can have in life.

We never made a bucket list for Caemon because we didn’t believe he was going to die until he did. He was on the list for Make A Wish to see Jack Johnson perform, but obviously he didn’t survive to receive the wish. It’s a painful place go emotionally, thinking of all the things Caemon will never do: he won’t have a fourth birthday or fly in an airplane, go to prom or drive a car, or most of those basic, simple things I would have wished for him. I prefer instead to remember those things that Caemon did get to do, those items that should go on his bucket list because he accomplished and experienced a lot for a 3 year old.  Before he died, Caemon

•      Took a road trip to the Grand Canyon
•      Went camping and toasted marshmallows over an open fire
•      Fell in love
•      Ran through sprinklers and learned to throw water balloons
•      Caught a snake
•      Went to school
•      Learned to cook
•       Got a job (not that the hospital ever paid him, but he did work!)
•       Saw the ocean and played buckets on the beach
•       Overcame his fears
•       Pet a goat
•       Read the classics: Seuss, Silverstein, Carle
•       Laughed openly and often
•       Planted a garden
•       Learned to jazz clap
•       Met a real, live dwarf caiman
•       Played in a band
•       Saw and hugged the redwoods
•       Made friends
•       Inspired a tattoo craze

There are so many things we will never get to do with him, but while he was here, we did a lot. We danced and sang and read piles of books. We laughed, acted silly, and made up games. We cooked and gardened, and went on adventures. We snuggled, kissed, and hugged him and said “I love you” often.  We didn’t necessarily live every day like it would be his last, but we lived every day knowing what we had and treating it reverently, cherishing this precious being we had waited so long for.  To lose that life that we love is indescribable, but I don’t regret one second of it. We didn’t need a list to remind us to live fully; if there was something we wanted to do, we found a way to do it. I hope that wherever Caemon is, he had fun while he was with us and that he was happy. I know I was.