A few years before my grandfather died, without knowing it was going to happen, he told me about how there were so many things he never got the chance to do - but that he felt like he got to do enough to be happy.
He was almost 90 when medical complications got the better of him.
My mom had just married my stepdad and I was around 7 years old. I would have to go to his mom and dad's house before school since my mom had just started working again. His dad was dying and on oxygen. He was pretty much bed ridden at that point. He called me into his room and asked me just to come in there to say hello whenever I came over. He didn't last much longer after that, but he still wanted to see me even though he had barely known me.
Not to me, but to my mum. When my dad died, he'd been ill with cancer for a few months, and in the final few days it spread to his brain, and he became essentially unable to communicate in any meaningful way.
However when it was clear we were in his final few minutes (his breathing made it obvious he was almost gone) my mum said to him that she loved him, and although he couldn't form words, he managed to make sounds that, although not words, were clearly the correct syllables and emphasis for "I love you". It was amazing, and meant so much.
My grandmother told me that if she could offer me one piece of advice it would be to stop worrying about the world, stop worrying about the future. If your thoughts are always there, they're never here and you just wake up one morning realizing how much time has disappeared.
Tired of lying in the sunshine, staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long, and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
"This is my favourite Indian restaurant." It has always been my favourite too. I think of John every time I go there. He was old, but passed away suddenly.
It's weird how the strangest things like this stick with you.