I must be honest with you, I think about dying a lot. Certainly not all of the time, but it is a big part of my daily routine and has been since I was diag­nosed. And that is some­thing that is new to my life.

Much of my life after diag­nosis has been about the same as before diag­nosis. I still work and put in time at the office. I still play golf and try to exercise at least four to five times a week. My wife and I still visit with our friends, live in the same house, and drive the same cars. I still like to read, and the TV still puts me to sleep on many nights. All of that is pretty much the same.

Yet, in spite of all this “sameness” or the re­quired adaptations to my routine since diag­nosis, like taking pills and getting blood draws, there is this one big (actually it is huge) issue that, while not new, is some­thing that I just cannot seem to grasp and it takes up more of my time than ever before and it cer­tainly has resulted in a change. And that is the awareness of the cer­tainty of my death, my mortality.

Look, I believe that all of us know we are going to die. I have lost people very close to me. I sell life insurance for crying out loud.

However, now it is dif­fer­en­t. Very dif­fer­en­t. It has gotten so much more personal. It definitely is closer as I age and because I know that having cancer is not a life extender. So maybe that is why more time is being spent on the subject.

A couple of weeks ago, there was a notice in our local paper. Someone I knew here in town died. He was two years younger than me. What was not mentioned in the paper was that he had been diag­nosed with multiple myeloma about two years after I was diag­nosed. He lasted about three and a half years. We visited on occasion about our cancer journeys.

I am acutely aware that my cancer is my cancer. One of the most poignant pieces of advice that the oncologist gave me right off the bat was “Mark, this is your cancer. No one else’s. The existing statistics, the numbers, the conjecture, and test results about multiple myeloma do not in­clude any of your data. This is your journey.”

Each and every one of us has our own chal­lenges. It is our journey to walk. Of course, what was not mentioned, what was left unsaid in the conversation with my oncologist, was that each and every one of us, no matter the path taken, ends up in the same place. It did not need to be said because I already know where this all ends. It is a con­stant, and it is guar­an­teed. And for me, it has be­come a key ingredient in how I live my life. I do not know what comes next or when or how that will hap­pen. I do, though, reflect on it quite a bit.

The value of our cancer struggle is not in the belief or the ex­pec­ta­tion that we are going to live forever. I mean, how foolish does that read? The value of the struggle is in knowing that we DO NOT live forever. Good gravy, we have just a limited time.

Often, knowing the cer­tainty of my mortality does not feel very good, or very desired, or fair, or any other word you could use to describe a sense of dissatisfaction. Maybe, at times, it even conjures a sense of loneliness.

"Well," I ask myself, "so what?" I can struggle with it if I want. That is a choice that I have.

However, I must realize that it does not change the reality of the situation one iota. So I tell myself: Spend some time with the struggle and then let it go. Focus on an awareness which coun­ter­acts the struggle and presents the oppor­tu­ni­ties and the ex­peri­ences that are mine for the taking. Realize how lucky I am and how lucky we all are to be in­volve­d in the struggle. Realize that it is all good and that it is going to be okay, no matter what.

Friends, enjoy the day. Enjoy the chal­lenges. Enjoy the un­cer­tainty, the successes, and the failures. Enjoy it all, or at least try.

Oh, I get that cer­tain things cannot be enjoyed. That’s just life. That’s fine. For me, I do not enjoy snow in June, tuna casserole, or a dirty inside of a car on a long road trip.

Do I enjoy living with multiple myeloma and all that it brings?  Well, let me put it this way: I enjoy living, and if I can avoid the tuna casserole, I will take it with a smile.