On Sunday, we were told he had been rushed to the hospital.
On Monday, we found out he had died on the spot.
There is something cruel about that space between those two sentences.
Between hope and finality.
Between “he’s at the hospital” and “he’s gone.”
Since then, everything has felt slightly unreal.
I laugh. I answer calls. I move through the day the way I’m supposed to.
But underneath it all, there’s been this quiet emptiness, not loud enough to collapse me, not soft enough to ignore.
Just a steady awareness.
Tomorrow is a rumor.
I keep replaying how normal Sunday was.
How ordinary.
How unaware we all were.
He didn’t know.
None of us knew.
That something as simple as a ride would become an ending.
And it has left me wondering, what are we really doing with all this careful postponing?
The clothes I’ve kept for a “better day.”
The plans I’ve pushed forward because work felt more urgent.
The rest I told myself I would take later.
The calls I almost delayed.
Later suddenly feels arrogant.
Since Monday, I’ve caught myself reaching for my phone just to tell people I love them.
Not dramatically.
Not in fear.
Not because I think saying it will protect anything.
But because love should not be rationed.
It should not sit in the chest waiting for a more convenient hour.
Grief has a strange wisdom.
It doesn’t shout instructions.
It simply rearranges your priorities without asking permission.
The things that felt urgent last week feel small now.
The stress I carried so tightly feels unnecessary.
The idea that I could keep living cautiously, saving joy, saving softness, saving presence — feels foolish.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Not even morning.
And that truth is terrifying…
but it is also clarifying.
If tomorrow is only a rumor, then today deserves my full participation.
Today deserves the good clothes.
The laughter.
The softness.
The honesty.
The “I love you” spoken while it can still be heard.
I don’t have big answers about life.
I’m still sad.
Still a little empty.
But inside that emptiness, there is a quiet decision forming:
I will not live like I have endless drafts of this life.
If tomorrow comes, I will be grateful.
But if it doesn’t,
I want to know I lived today without withholding my heart.
