I sat in a pew, surrounded by a throng of people, listening to someone talk about their loved one. I was there in part to repay a debt incurred sixteen years ago.

“Who among us thought that a week ago we would be here? Or a month? Or a year?” Everyone listening to him would feel the urgency of an indistinct carpe diem tug at their heart. As the day would go on, though, most would let distractions and the to-do’s push the essential reminder out of their head. That’s just life.

Later, someone said to me, “Tomorrow.”

And I still can’t find the words to explain to people why the procrastination of tomorrow rings like a stick of dynamite in my ears.

I don’t want a promissory note, one serving as a promise of a hug, a laugh, or of a moment that might not ever come due.

Tomorrow.

If we’re lucky.

And if we’re not, what’s put off until tomorrow is gone forever.

There’s something about this that defines me.

Maybe it’s experience or age, perhaps it’s loss. The window to enjoy life and people shuts incrementally.

Tomorrow is here and it’s all you have. It’s camouflaged as today. If you wake up groggy, take a moment to taste the coffee. If you have someone, touch them lightly as a way to remind them.

Love, X
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