WHEN IT'S TOO LATE

A WEEK AGO, BETTY'S GRANDFATHER DIED.

NOVEMBER NINETEENTH.

THIS IS A VERY SAD EVENT AND BETTY, DESPITE HER RATIONALIZING EFFORTS AND ADULT AGE, CAN'T HELP BUT FEEL 360 DEGREES ALL-BLACK.

TECHNICALLY THOUGH, IT IS ARGUABLE THAT THERE IS ANOTHER ANGLE TO IT, AND IN FACT, IT SHOULD BE A REASON FOR JOY THAT SOMEONE YOU LOVE LIVES TO BE ALMOST NINETY YEARS OF AGE, TWENTY OF WHICH HE WON OVER TWO HEART ATTACKS. HOWEVER YOU LOOK AT IT, HE LIVED A LONG LIFE, A GOOD ONE TOO, AND WHEN HE WENT IT HAPPENED QUICKLY, SOFTLY, WHILE IN GOOD HANDS. 

EVEN IN PASSING, THE MAN HAS BEEN LUCKY.

BETTY TRAVELED ACROSS TWO COUNTRIES TO ATTEND THE FUNERAL.

TO WALK IN A WHITE-TILED ROOM AND GASP AT WHAT LOOKED LIKE A MEDIOCRE WAX REPLICA OF HER GRANDDAD, IN A BOX, STUCK STIFF IN A BLACK SUIT AND MAKE-UP.

TO TOUCH HIS YELLOW AND REALLY COLD HAND.

TO WITNESS THE COFFIN BEING LOWERED ON ROPES INTO A HOLE IN THE GROUND, 
TRYING NOT TO THINK THAT THIS IS WHERE HER GRANDPA IS GONNA BE, FROM NOW ON.

IN A WOODEN BOX BURIED IN A GRAVEYARD.

REST IN PEACE.

BUT BETTY HAS TO ADMIT THAT, IN ALL THIS GRIEF, SHE HAS BEEN LUCKY TOO.
HER GRANDFATHER WAS TAKEN INTO THE HOSPITAL ON A SUNDAY EVENING.
"NOT THE FIRST TIME", THOUGHT EVERYONE IN THE FAMILY AND, FOR SOME MYSTERIOUS REASON, 
"NOT THE LAST" THEY THOUGHT TOO. 
EVERYONE BUT BETTY.

EARLY ON THE MONDAY MORNING, WHILE SHE WAS BUSY WITH SOME ROUTINE-LIVING ACTIVITY, SHE WAS SUDDENLY STRUCK BY A VERY BAD CHILL. NOT KNOWING ANY BETTER, SHE DROPPED WHATEVER SHE WAS DOING, PICKED UP HER PHONE AND DID SOMETHING QUITE IRRATIONAL: SHE RANG HER HALF-COMATOSE GRANDFATHER'S CELL.

MIRACLE WANTED THAT A NURSE WAS STROLLING PAST HIS BED AND PICKED UP THE CALL.
"WE HAD TO REANIMATE HIM AN HOUR AGO, BUT HE IS STABLE NOW", SHE INFORMED.
"STABLE? IS HE CONSCIOUS? CAN HE TALK?", BETTY'S VOICE TREMBLED IN THE PHONE.
"YES, HE IS CONSCIOUS. WAIT... SIR? SIR, IT'S YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER, SHE'S ON THE PHONE". 
IN A FLASH, BETTY FOUND HERSELF IN THAT ROOM. 
SHE SAW HER GRANDDAD'S TIRED HEAD TURN ON THE STERILE PILLOW TO FACE THE BENT NURSE IN TURQUOISE OVERALL. 
SHE ALMOST FELT THE SMELL OF IT.
"MADAME, CAN YOU PLEASE TELL HIM THAT I'M THINKING OF HIM ALL THE TIME. PLEASE. AND THAT I LOVE HIM?...", BETTY PANTED TO THE STRANGER ON THE LINE.
"SHE'S THINKING OF YOU, SIR. SHE WISHES YOU ALL THE BEST AND LOVES YOU.", THE WOMAN REPEATED WARMLY.
AND THAT'S WHEN BETTY HEARD THE LAST WORDS SHE WOULD EVER HEAR FROM HIM, 
HIS DISTANT VOICE MURMUR A SORE "THANK YOU, HONEY".
THREE HOURS LATER, HE WAS NO MORE. 

YOU SEE, BETTY COULD FILL WHOLE NOTEBOOKS WITH MEMORIES OF HER GRANDFATHER, GOING BACK DECADES. 
OF CHRISTMAS DINNERS AT HIS TABLE, OF MUSHROOM-HUNTS IN THE WOODS AROUND HIS COTTAGE, POKER LESSONS BY THE SEA.

SHE HAS HALF A MILLION OF SUCH MOMENTS ON THE HARD DISK OF HER MEMORY, SAMPLES OF HIS VOICE, FRAGMENTS OF HIS FACE, OF HOW HE KISSED HER WELCOME WHEN SHE CAME TO VISIT, OF HOW HE MADE HER LAUGH.

BUT WHAT WILL NEVER, EVER, NO MATTER WHAT, FADE OFF HER MEMORY IS THE ECHOING SOUND OF THOSE THREE LAST WORDS SHE WAS LUCKY ENOUGH TO HEAR: 
THANK. YOU. HONEY.

SO, WHAT BETTY WOULD LIKE TO SAY, IS:

IF YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN KEEP POSTPONING ACTIONS AND PEOPLE THAT YOU LOVE TO A CONSTANT "SOMEDAY", OR "EVENTUALLY",
IF YOU THINK YOU STILL HAVE MOUNTAINS OF TIME TO DO ALL THE THINGS YOU WOULD LIKE TO DO,
IF YOU THINK THAT YOUR FUTURE OR YOUR PAST ARE MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE DAY YOU ARE ALIVE NOW,
AND IF YOU, FOR ANY REASON, THINK PEOPLE AND THINGS ARE ENDLESS,
THEN PLEASE THINK AGAIN.

CAUSE THEY ARE NOT.