Last Words

I’m that woman in the car next to you at the stop sign.

I didn’t pull forward immediately and you honked to let me know you were waiting on me. 

I get it.

We’re all on a schedule, some tighter than others. Some less forgiving. I get it.

You drive by and I note the ear thingie. Blue tooth.

When I was born, the phones were big and black and heavy. They were fixed to the wall. There was no call waiting or forwarding or voicemail.

Just plain old ring ring party line.

My dad is going to die. 

I am going to lose my father. Maybe today. Maybe tomorrow.

You’re sitting next to me in your army ranger uniform and you fidget your wedding ring with your thumb. Whatever you’re thinking, be thankful. Be thankful you’re going home to a spouse. Be thankful.

You called me this morning and I was a little bit scatter brained and you sighed. I know. I wasn’t on point. I wasn’t super sharp. I hesitated.

I’m in a hotel room on an island 4000 miles away from my kids.

And my dad...

I left him a message this morning. I love you, Dad. It might be the last words he hears me say. 

You know what? Whatever you said to your dad or your spouse or your kid last....those might be the last words they hear you say. Make them count.

And one more thing...

Look at the person next to you. You don’t know. You just don’t know what they’re dealing with. 

Be kind. Smile. We are all just one breath away from forever.