A few days ago, I lost a close family member. She had been living in the States for many years, and it had been nearly 25 years since I last saw her. She lived a long, full life, though her final years were marked by illness and discomfort, so in a way, I find comfort in knowing she’s now at peace. When I heard of her passing, a wave of emotions washed over me. I found myself remembering the moments we shared when I was younger. It’s strange—it doesn’t feel like those memories are that far away.
For much of our lives, we feel like time isn’t moving fast enough—whether it’s wanting to finish school, rushing toward marriage when we’re in love, counting down the years to retirement, or waiting for our children to grow up and become independent. Most of us live in constant anticipation of the next phase, always looking ahead to a seemingly better tomorrow. In doing so, we rarely pause to reflect on how far we’ve already come or how much we’ve already accomplished. It’s often moments like the loss of someone dear that shake us, reminding us to be present—and to look back with gratitude and awareness.
It’s not easy to pause and reflect every day, especially when we’re hustling—trying to improve our lives and do the best we can for ourselves and our loved ones. But living on autopilot can slowly drain the richness out of life. It’s a conscious shift we need to make: to slow down just enough to be aware of the present moment, to appreciate the now instead of always chasing the next.
Grief, in its quiet way, opens a doorway to perspective. It nudges us to ask: What matters? It reminds us to make space for memories, for connection, for moments that often go unnoticed in the rush. And perhaps that’s one way we honour the people we’ve lost—not just by remembering them, but by choosing to live more fully ourselves.
I’ve realised that the most meaningful parts of life often hide in the ordinary—in a shared cup of tea, an old photograph, a memory that makes you smile. We tend to measure time by milestones, but perhaps it’s the in-between moments that shape us the most. Losing someone you love doesn’t just leave a void; it leaves behind a mirror. A chance to see more clearly, to feel more deeply, and to live more intentionally.
So today, I choose to sit with my memories—not with regret, but with reverence. I choose to acknowledge the fragility of time and the beauty of presence. And I remind myself that while we may not control how much time we have, we do have a say in how deeply we live it.
If you’ve been waiting for the right time to reach out, to slow down, to simply be—maybe that time is now.