Would Mother Teresa have spent these kinds of idle hours?
Not likely, not her.
If the end comes in a hospital bed or in the Ranchito´s king bed, will we spend days, or weeks or even months, thinking of important things we didn´t do?
Or if the end comes in a flash, perhaps amidst crunching metal or with that telltale pressure on the chest, passing down the left arm, will there be just enough time, perhaps an instant, to ponder those important things left undone? Regret?
The orphans we did not save. The widows we did not feed. The rain forests chopped down around us as we sipped another cafecito. The famines we ignored, all those refugees. Sometimes we wonder.
And then she leans over the armchair to whisper:
Thanks for giving me this life.
And we remember our motto, a gift from Emily:
If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.
There is no waste in that.