Next Time

“Always just being so selfish,” my brother said. Our grandmother had just passed and he was lamenting not going to see her more often. 

I was even more guilty. When I didn’t visit it was because it was hard. Hard for me to see someone who was so strong and vibrant, someone who used to churn out a seemingly endless supply of homemade tortillas and tamales, and cook huge dinners for the whole family, barely be able to move. 

It made me uncomfortable. Mostly because I know that will be me one day. It will be all of us one day. 

Earlier that same day I’d heard the Anne Frank quote: “Dead people receive more flowers than the living ones because regret is stronger than gratitude.”

The ultimate flower is our time. Extremely limited in supply but available for use however we see fit. 

Driving home from Christmas dinner at my mothers I could see my grandma’s house from the freeway. I’d visited her recently and it was getting late so I told my wife: “I’ll just see her next time.” She died two days after Christmas. 

Sometimes next time never comes.