Those Little Passing Moments

What if today was your last day on earth?

How would things be different for you?

What would be important?

All those things that seem so big right now - how would they look then?

Today I'm thinking of my brother Paul. The time he left to get dinner and asked casually, "D'you wanna to come?"

Part of me wanted to go. But it was overridden by another too stunned to take the invite seriously.

Paul was a proper grown up, you see. He had a car, a house, a girlfriend. I was an awkward teenager. 

"He's not really inviting you," my inner critic explained. "He's just being polite".

And so I heard myself reply, in my best nonchalant voice, "No thanks. I'm fine".

Such an ordinary, everyday chat. Meaningless. 

Except that soon after, Paul met with an accident. There'd be no more chats.

Which is how I learned that little memories turn out to be not so little. 

Passing moments unfold to be the ones that matter.

The most meaningless exchanges reveal themselves as the most meaningful of all. 

And other lost memories fade back in.

- The day Paul pulled up in his car as I was two doors from home, and asked with a grin, "Wanna lift?"

- The weekend he paid me to paint his windows and I was so proud of my work. Until he clarified, smiling, "I meant the outside!"

- The time he taught me, matter of factly, that I need to lift the seat before peeing. (Well, what else are older brothers for?).

And I'm grateful. 

Whatever we're ambitious for, whatever we struggling or caught up with, there's never a bad time to ask: is it really that important? 

So if there's someone you'd love to spend time with, today might be the perfect day.

If there's someone you've been intending to thank, this could be the day. 

If there's someone you've been thinking of sending flowers to, how about this day now? 

Because, remember, it could be their last.

Or it could be yours.