Life*.

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Wow. A month since I last posted. Just like that. Let me warn you before you proceed. This is the kind of post I usually write for myself. If you do decide to accompany me in this journey, please bear with me, in my heart it all does make sense.

We were recently on vacation with my husband, when we witnessed the life of a middle-aged man being claimed by the clear blue waters of an apparently tranquil ocean. A blonde fragile woman was kneeling on the white sand beach holding her late husband's hand, refusing to have his body covered and removed from the scene as all attempts to bring him back to life were unsuccessful. It was truly heartbreaking and even if I didn't personally know this couple my eyes teared up and could almost feel her pain as my own. 

I've been thinking about this tragic scene every single day since. This couple was probably on holiday just like we were, probably celebrating an anniversary too, or maybe a birthday, a retirement. They had probably waited years to take this trip. He had probably woken up that morning and after a hearty breakfast had decided to go for a swim, had even probably scheduled some golf for that same afternoon; little did he know his heart had decided to stop that very morning.

I could only imagine the pain his wife was feeling as she knelt on the sand refusing to let go. Her pain as she returned home alone. Their children had probably planned a surprise welcome home party. They would probably be eager to see the pictures, hear the stories, tell their parents how much they missed them.  I wonder when was the last time they told him 'I love you'...

This got me thinking, what if it had been my husband that morning? What if it had been me? What if it had been my very own heart that had suddenly decided to stop as I swam the same clear blue waters that claimed this man's life? What if it decides to stop tomorrow, maybe? Right after having breakfast, ready for a quick shower, with a day full of plans ahead. I would have said goodbye to my baby as she left for school with my husband, just like everyday, unsuspecting this would be the last, the last everything; ever. But how many things would I leave undone? How many I love yous would I leave unsaid? How many words would I leave unspoken? How much time would I have wasted? How many hugs and cuddles would I leave ungiven? How many dreams would I leave unaccomplished? How many regrets would weigh my soul down to this world?

It often takes an event this tragic or even just a thought like this to reflect on the fragility of life. Death should be no surprise, it is in fact the only constant reminder that we are here just in passing. No later, no soon, no tomorrow should be ever taken for granted.  No "I forgive you", or "I'm sorry", or "I love you" or "I miss you" should ever be left unspoken. Tomorrow is too long a wait.

The more I think about this scene the more I prefer to imagine this man left nothing unsaid or undone. I like to think that that very morning he spoke on the phone with his children and grandchildren, as he always did, and told them how much he loved them and missed them and how much they were enjoying this trip. Maybe he told them about how the day before he had tried something new, something he'd never done before, like diving, or snorkeling or parasailing. Maybe they had laughed to tears over the phone. Maybe that was the very same day of their anniversary, and on that same morning he kissed and thanked his wife for a beautiful life together and the loving family they had created. Maybe as he swam into the vastness of the ocean he smiled as he thought there was no clock he would turn, for he had lived and loved fully with no regrets, and maybe, just maybe; he even felt ready.