The pen scribbled on the white paper, Alexandra was writing down his bucket list, muttering words as he wrote, pausing to think and then bending again to scribble. The bed he was sitting on was uncomfortable so he shifted from time to time to get the right the position and to ease the ache in his buttocks. After a while he raised his head, dropped his pen and lifted the list up to study it. He nodded, satisfied with his work.
He struggled to get down from his bed, the doctor had emphasized on the importance of a daily walk and the effects of not doing it. He landed on the ground with a grunt then wore his slip-on and began his daily walk around the hospital. He walked around the hospital grounds with his drip and drip stand in tow, greeting the nurses and staff familiarly—they all knew him. He’s been here for so long he knows the entire layout of the hospital. He walked through the side walk lined with trees and shrubs and sat on one of the benches to enjoy the scenery, breathing in the fresh oxygen the trees provided.
Yesterday the doctor had told him he had less than 3 months to live and that he could die any day within those three months. Ever since he was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy a year ago he’d made sure to make every moment in his short life count. He knew he didn’t have long to live but yesterday when the doctor came with the news he felt his fragile heart contract.
He went to see his doctor to negotiate a discharge so he could carry out his bucket list. His bucket list wasn’t lengthy, all he wanted was to connect with estranged family, fly in a hot air balloon to see the world all at once and to donate the rest of his riches to the children who were less privileged.
After all, the only people who fear death are those with regrets.