One Last PB & J: Pondering My Mortality Between A Couple Pieces of Bread

Every day I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I assure you this is not exaggeration or hyperbole. I’m talkin’ every. single. day.

I’ve done this for at least the past couple of decades, maybe longer.

Most of the time I have one for breakfast or during a midday training session at the gym or as a late evening snack. It’s just part of my daily rhythm.

Yesterday I was up before the sun, assembling yet another addition to my now legendary gastronomic streak, when there in the predawn stillness it hit me: This might be my last PB & J.

I considered how many times I’d done it before; how many pieces of bread I’ve mindlessly slathered and stuck together, never really aware of what I was walking into on those days; of just how much was in the balance, of all that lay ahead of me.

I likely made one the day I met my wife,
another when I found out that…