Mom asks son to give her the one experience she never had

I received the call around four o’clock. It was simple enough. “Johnathan, I need to speak with you. Come by around eight.” It was my mother. The fact that she addressed me by my proper name was enough to let me know the subject matter, whatever it may be, was serious in nature, and the fact that she offered no more than she did was her way of informing me that any questions I might have before eight would go unanswered. I told her I would be there, and I was.

I sat on the recliner adjacent to her position on the sofa. I was not reclined at all. In fact, I was sitting forward, my forearms on my quads, to show I was listening intently to whatever it was she had to tell me. After what seemed an eternity of silence, Mom said, “I had a doctor’s appointment today.”

“How did that go?” I asked.

Silence. Thirty seconds, a minute, a minute and a half, then, “Not well.” More silence. “I have a brain tumor.”

“I thought they got rid of that?” I asked, for it truly was my belief. It had been three years ago when she was diagnosed. She had had two of those gamma knife procedures, and ever since she had been told that it was shrinking more and more, up until the point where the doctors told her it was completely gone.

“It’s not the same one,” she told me. “This one is more deeply rooted. They overlooked it because they thought the one they found was the only one. This one, though …” She stopped and collected herself. “It’s been too long, Johnny. It’s grown too big. They said it was inoperable.”

“Have you gotten a second opinion?” I asked.

She lightly snorted a laugh. “This was a third opinion, actually, and they all say the same thing.”

“Which is?”

“I have less than a year to live.”

So that was it. My mother just told me that this time next year, she would no longer be a resident of the physical plane. “Um … I know it must be a lot to take in. Have you made any preparations for this?”

“Everything will go to you.”

“No, Mom. I’m not talking about that. What I mean is, do you have a burial plot? You know, things like that.”

“Yes. All my funerary needs have been taken care of.”

“When will you tell your friends? I mean, they deserve to know as soon as possible so they can prepare themselves for the eventuality.”

“I’ll let them know,” she said as she nodded her head in agreement. “In the meantime, I need something from you.”

“Sure, Mom. Name it.”

She laughed loudly. Once calm again, she just stared at me. In all honesty, I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I was about to ask what it was she wanted when she said, “There is so much I never experienced. So much I have wanted to do, but never did.”

“Bucket list,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s called a bucket list. You know, like when someone dies people say, ‘he or she kicked the bucket?’ A bucket list is a list of things someone wants to do before he or she dies.”

“Yes, then that’s what I mean,” she said as she sat back a little. “I have a bucket list, but I suppose mine would be a bit unorthodox, considering the subject matter and my age.”

“How so?”