A friend of my husband and mine lost his wife of 25 years to a heart attack this week. She was only 50 years old.

How did she spend her final day?

 

Did she clean the house or go for a walk in the woods? Did she feel too fat in the pants she wore? Maybe she worried that her hair was too flat to go out in public...

None of that matters now.
And although it's hard for each of us to realize, none of it ever did.

We spend so many precious days worrying that we’re not thin enough or we’re not pretty enough. What will they think of me?

Life is so very short... too short to waste it on meaningless worries. And I’m guilty of all of the above, just like everyone else.

Being writers on Writing.Com, no one knows what you look like unless you post your photograph. No one here cares what you look like. This is a place to let your inner self shine through your outer self.

We meet each other here through our writing... and become the best of friends.

Best friends, who have known each other for years, met for the first time at the convention. Weight and beauty had nothing to do with building those friendships. It was the person sitting at the keyboard, the person inside, possibly on the other side of the world, that we wanted to meet.

The weekend of the convention allowed members to finally meet one another. We laughed, hugged, cried and sealed those friendships that were already there. Making physical changes will not make that friendship stronger... I don't think that's possible.

We love everyone for who they are inside.

If you only had one more day to live...

What would really matter?

As a cancer survivor, your world stops the minute you are told you have cancer. STOPS. Nothing else matters... not losing weight, not cleaning the house, not your looks.