“See You in an Hour” — But It Was the Last Time

From my perspective, we only have one certainty in life: death.

Today’s story is not about these two events themselves, even though they are both part of life. But I’ll describe them a little.

Saturday started intensely.

I had a wedding to attend, and like any wedding or family event, everything begins with chaos. Since we were young, we’ve been taught that we have to hurry, that we must not be late.

But what happens if we are late?

Do we really need to be the first ones there? What does that actually change? Wouldn’t it be easier to simply let things happen naturally? If we arrive thirty minutes later, what happens? Does the wedding get canceled?

We constantly tend to turn someone else’s event into our own.

Anyway, the atmosphere was beautiful, and the desserts were extraordinary. What I appreciated the most was having the chance to talk with people I grew up with. Living in the kind of society we have today, maintaining relationships is difficult. Everyone is busy, everyone has their own life to deal with.

Weddings become an opportunity to reconnect. A chance to revisit old memories. For me, it became a memory exercise — reliving those days when I was a kid in the countryside, when every day brought something new to do. Not always something productive. In fact, almost never.

It was a beautiful day, although it felt a little too short and began in a rather exhausting way.

Sunday, unfortunately, was different. I attended a funeral.

A funeral is sad, as funerals usually are. I don’t think I’ve ever been to one and thought, that was nice. Sure, from certain perspectives, maybe things can go well. It was a countryside funeral, for example, and at least it didn’t rain. But you can never really say that a funeral was good.

There, I had some time to reflect on the contradiction between these two events. One thought kept repeating itself in my mind, stronger than all the others.

When are we ever ready to say goodbye to someone?

This question carries many meanings. Goodbye can take many forms, and I wasn’t only thinking about death. I was thinking about leaving coworkers behind when changing jobs, or finishing high school. You won’t have the same dynamic anymore. You won’t see the same people every day, spending eight hours together. Of course, it cannot be compared to death — at least here, there is still the possibility of meeting again.

The funeral ends. We stay a little longer, then begin driving back home. The road is crowded, but I’ve learned not to rush anymore. Ten minutes more or less is not the end of the world. I’m not willing to sacrifice our safety just to save a few minutes. I’d rather people honk at me and call me an old man for driving legally and as carefully as possible.

On the way back, there is a place where we always stop for pies. Stopping there has become a tradition. Every single time, we stop, stretch our legs a little, and eat a delicious pie.

We finish eating and get back on the road. Since traffic was heavy, we took a different route, with Waze suggesting a better alternative. Fair enough — in a city like this, without Waze, the exact same route can differ by dozens of minutes.

Then I noticed a newly reported accident in the app. There wasn’t much traffic building up yet, only a few cars. It looked minor. The car simply seemed more damaged than usual.

I was terribly wrong.

The accident had been violent, and unfortunately, there were victims involved. I don’t want to describe it explicitly because I’m still trying to forget those images.

At that exact moment, the same question returned once again:

When are we ever ready to say goodbye to someone?

How could you ever be prepared to tell someone, “See you in an hour,” only for that to become the very last time you ever see each other?

All because of unjustified haste. Because of negligence. Although, in truth, it doesn’t even matter what caused it. It could have been natural causes too. It still wouldn’t change the fact that you will never have the chance to speak again. At least not here.

I think we are never truly ready to say goodbye to someone. In any form.

That thought led me to another set of questions.

Where are we rushing to?

Where are we rushing so desperately that we forget what truly matters?

Where are we rushing so fast that we forget to live, to connect, to simply exist with one another?

No matter how fast we run, we are all only running toward one certainty. Whatever we do, we are all part of a marathon on an infinite road. For some, it ends sooner. For others, later. Some run with everything they have. Others walk at their own pace.

Isn’t it better to walk? To enjoy the scenery, instead of running so fast that you lose the essence of everything around you?

I have tried running.

Now, I want to try walking.