A call in the middle of the night pulled the floor from my feet. He was gone. And all the memories started flooding back to me. I replayed my last visit with him over and over in my head; it was September 7, 2017. Twenty two days later, he would pass.
There’s a lot you can do in 22 days. I went to tailgates, football games, boxing, shopping, the list goes on. What I didn’t do was visit him.
I’d visit at least once a month; a promise I made to myself in the beginning of the year. But now, it doesn’t seem enough.
In the wake of the Vegas shooting and my grandpa’s passing, I’m reminded of how important every moment is. We think we have time but a moment passes and it’s too late.
Nothing is promised and growing old is a privilege. We think we have time. But the truth is, time waits for no one. The clock doesn’t stop while we try to line everything up. Perfect time moves as quickly as imperfect time. We are already writing our story, it doesn’t begin when things are perfect, it is being written with every breath you breathe. Live hard, friends. I’ll be living hard right along side of you!