I had a terrible dream the other night. In it, someone important to me had died. I remember the crushing weight of the grief I felt when I learned of the death; and when I woke up, I had to think hard for several minutes to reassure myself that the person was, in fact, still alive and well.
The echo of that shocking grief haunted me throughout the day. It was not surprising, really, that such a terrible thing swam up through my brain while I was sleeping: someone close to me very recently underwent a (literally) heart-stopping surgery, and a fear of loss has been floating around in my subconscious like an ugly sea creature in the depths.
You will note that I have not mentioned such a surgery here. It is too hard to write about yet; the person is still recovering, and slowly. Perhaps, when more time has passed and the path to recovery is strong, I will write more.
What I have been reminded, though, is that there is an importance to treasuring people now, while we still can. Sometimes as we slog through the minutiae of daily life, we lose sight of the forest because of all of the trees. To pause, to love those we love now, seems to be more important than ever.
If I knew that today would be the last time I’d see you, I would hug you tight and pray the Lord be the keeper of your soul. If I knew that this would be the last time you pass through this door, I’d embrace you, kiss you, and call you back for one more. If I knew that this would be the last time I would hear your voice, I’d take hold of each word to be able to hear it over and over again. If I knew this is the last time I see you, I’d tell you I love you, and would not just assume foolishly you know it already. - Gabriel García Márquez
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