Tomorrow Isn’t Promised

I was given a stark reminder recently that tomorrow isn’t promised to you. As humans, we are given these lives to experience and grow through, and then suddenly it’s all gone, over, finito. One day you’re kicking around, doing all the things, making all the moves. The next, your loved ones — if you’re lucky enough to have any — are planning your funeral. You will likely get laid inside a box, dressed in your favorite clothes, and be viewed by people you barely knew. You’ll have friends and family surround those that are still living to show support and love. Some preacher will write a sermon that may or may not move the family to tears, and you’ll be laid to rest. Then it will all be over.

Sunrise at River’s Edge in Jacksonville, Florida

At least, that’s the scenario that played out today when my foster brother Dee passed away. I never expected to show up to his funeral, it being 18 years since our last encounter, but dare I say God, or GUS had other plans. How oddly synchronistic that I just so happened to be in South Carolina for another engagement with my daughter, my mother living a county over. I knew the minute I saw the Facebook post from Sharon and Phil cross my feed, my first foster parents, that I had to support them during their time of grief. Something I have a tendency to do well is transmute chaos.

The service was somber, a bit awkward, and even bittersweet. Sharon now full grey with long curly hair looking like the world’s most beautiful matriarch. Phil whose hearing is nearly gone after all this time holding dearly to his youngest granddaughter Sophie’s hand. I instantly felt out of place, having come in without any notice with my 15-year-old daughter in tow. She convinced me to stay through the whole thing, and even noticed that Dee was wearing a cowboy hat. He loved Toy Story and lived a life very restricted by limitations. He required around-the-clock care and was nonverbal.

I remember him back when I was 16. He was sweet, kind, and very, very controlling, even then. He would go to school and sometimes struggled to regulate his emotions. I had never been exposed to special needs before Dee, and he opened my eyes to a world that existed beyond what society deems normal. He was incredible, and Sharon and Phil were very good parents to him. Their foster home was always welcoming, I guess, whatever I can remember of it, which is a bit scattered.

I can see two versions of Phil and Sharon. Two versions of myself. Standing in tandem, the then and the now. It is in these moments that you can touch your younger self with love and gratitude while holding their hand pouring kindness into their soul. To them, back then, it may have come across as a shiver down the spine, or a shift of cold in the room. The you then may not have known how to take a deep breath, or keep their mouth shut; and may struggled a bit more than the you that you are now. These moments bridge the gap in time, and allow you to travel through it. I feel compelled to tell you how important it is to notice when you’re invited into these memories and use them as an anchor to pour intention into positive thoughts, to help shift the version of you back then into the perspective of the version that you are now. Collapse the timeline and be with them, plant the idea, whisper gratitude, be kind. Little by little the ripples create change in your now.

If tomorrow isn’t promised, then I challenge you to live like today might be your last. If you get the nudge to see that friend, give them a call, because that opportunity might be gone tomorrow. I was in Rock Hill, where the funeral was held just 2 weekends ago. I had written on my Facebook Messenger to Sharon “Hey I am in town, just wanted to say hi” that was left unsent. I had to erase that message when I sent the condolences after finding out about Dee’s passing. You never know when it will come, so hold those you love like it’s the last time you’ll ever hold them. Tell them you love them, and make a positive impact on people’s lives. What legacy do you want to leave on people’s lives? I’d like to leave one worth remembering, wouldn’t you?