The Gift of One More Conversation
A few weeks ago, I had a video catch-up with a friend I’d known for over 18 years. In the past decade, our connection had been mostly through texts and the occasional phone call. Back when I lived in Geneva, if she was in town for work, she’d often stay with me—or at the very least, we’d share a meal. But since moving to the UK, ten years had slipped by without us seeing each other in person.
That call was warm and wonderful. It was really nice to see her face again, to hear how she was doing, and to listen to her talk about her love for her dog, Margot. After so many years, just having that conversation felt like a gift. We promised not to let so much time pass before the next one and pencilled in another video chat for a Sunday morning a few weeks later.
The Friday before, I texted to see if we could move it—another friend was visiting and I didn’t want to rush either conversation. Strangely, the message never delivered, and she didn’t reply. Odd, but not alarming. People get busy, travel, forget to respond. I thought little of it.
Sunday came and went. On Monday evening, a mutual friend texted me with devastating news: she had passed away in a car accident that weekend.
Shock. Disbelief. Then sadness sank in.
Losing someone you expect to lose—an elderly grandparent, a friend with a long illness—still hurts deeply, but in some way, your heart tries to prepare. When it’s sudden, unexpected, out of nowhere, the grief has a different texture. It comes with a voice in your head saying: But I just spoke to her. She can’t be gone.
She was a friend I cared about, and her loss has touched me more deeply than I expected. I love her. She was too young to be gone, and I am still in shock. I am grieving her, and I am also grieving the reminder that life can shift so suddenly, without warning.
When life is difficult, I usually give myself permission to complain for a short while, and then pick myself up and find a way to move forward. But this is different. She doesn’t get that chance. There is no picking herself up, no keep going. Not in this life, not in this form. (I do find some comfort in believing she is at peace now, and that the sadness I feel is something within me—my own response to her absence.) She is gone. No more calls to share her fears, her joys, her frustrations, and then start fresh the next day. She is gone, and I still find it hard to process.
But I do thank the universe for the privilege of having shared so many wonderful things together—for her being part of my life, for the energy and love she gave and received. I will celebrate the contribution she made to this world, the lives she touched.
This loss has reminded me not to wait. Don’t take life, people, or situations for granted. Tell the people in your life that you love them. Choose joy where you can. Live with urgency and passion. Live as if today is your last day, so you leave without regrets.
