The other night I had the occasion to be in the emergency room in the middle of the night, which is another post for another day.  What I want to talk about in this post is what I saw that night.

The emergency room was empty with the exception of one other family. They were waiting on their elderly father who had been brought in earlier and they were casually chatting about various things that had happened that day in their lives.  From the looks of it, they were not overly concerned about what was happening to their father.

Then the doctor came out.

It took about 30 seconds for the entire family to go from mildly normal to complete meltdown.  My wife and I sat there and watched them fall apart standing there in the hallway, with the doctor and nurse trying to hop from person to person and comfort them. It was obvious that the family was not prepared for his heart to stop and did not expect that his last night was that night.

After they left the room we sat there in a room that was completely silent.  We looked at each other and both knew that one day we would be standing there. God forbid it’s one of the kids, more likely one of our parents. Regardless, I don’t look forward to that day when I am standing there listening to the words come out of the doctor’s mouth.

Which brings me to this.  You’ve heard it before, so I don’t really think I’m giving you any deep philosophical insight here.  One day you’ll blink, and they’ll be gone.  Whoever it is, they’ll be gone. So you need to call them.  Today.  And tell them you love them.  Better yet, hug their neck. Twice.