Today was the hardest day. I had to say goodbye to my grandma—not because of illness, but because her body simply grew tired. Old age came quietly, and slowly, she began to fade.
This was the woman who always had a story on her lips, usually more than one. But in these last days, words left her. No more stories, just whispers—one or two words at a time. I flew across the country to be with her, and I got four sacred days by her bedside. Four days that felt like a heartbeat. And then, it was time to leave.
That’s the thing about goodbyes. They only crush you when you know it’s the last.
As I left her room, my chest tightened. I didn’t want to say goodbye because goodbyes mean finality. Still, I had to walk away. I rushed to the airport with a broken heart, boarding the plane just twenty minutes before takeoff. By the time I sat down, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I sobbed—silent but loud enough that the man next to me probably didn’t know what to do. Hundreds of people around me, and I had never felt so utterly alone.
And yet, I knew Grandma was alone too.
Now, sitting at my layover, watching strangers pass by with their coffees and rolling suitcases, it hits me—we’ll all end up in that place someday. The end. The slowing down. The goodbye. The difference lies in whether we arrive with regret or with peace.
My grandma had no regrets. She lived with intention. She raised eight kids. She traveled the world. She loved simple joys, but she lived them to the fullest. Her life wasn’t about things; it was about people, experiences, and love.
If she taught me anything, it was this: stuff is just stuff. People matter. Moments matter. Experiences matter.
So, as I sit here reflecting, I ask myself—do I have regrets? Not really. But I do have things I would change. And the thing about change is that it has to start NOW. Because if we don’t change when we feel the nudge, regret eventually sneaks in.
I heard a quote recently that stuck with me: “In forty years, you would trade every dollar you have to be right where you are today.” That’s it. This moment is the youngest, the most alive, the most “now” we’ll ever be. So why keep waiting?
We keep saying we’ll do it when… We think there is time. The time to make the call, write the letter, say “I’m sorry,” take the trip, start the business, apply for the job, or say “I love you” is now.
As I hugged Grandma for the last time, kissed her forehead, and whispered a final prayer, I thanked her. Thanked her for being the role model she was. Thanked her for showing me that life is not about accumulation—it’s about connection.
No more Grandma hugs. No more winks. No more hand squeezes. Just memories to hold onto and lessons to live by.
Goodbye, Grandma. I love you. Grandpa is waiting.
And now, here I sit, heart torn between living a simple life and living a big, bold one. Maybe the truth is—it’s not about choosing. It’s about living fully, without regret, no matter how big or how simple it looks.
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