Don’t Wait To Live

Death is often a wake-up call to the fragility of life. But it shouldn’t be

My high school classmate passed away last weekend. He was 21 years old. Eight months away from his college graduation.

I didn’t know Dak that well; we probably had only two or three classes together. But I remember his smile, and how his eyes squinted when he laughed. Many of our mutual friends knew him for years before I joined our class. They say he was kind. Thoughtful. A person who loved and lived for others. Someone who would chuckle and shake his head at the idea of people coming together to honor him.

I will never know him like they did. I regret every chance I missed to do so.

No one ever thinks about how fleeting life is until a tragedy like an unexpected death happens. When it does, time momentarily stops. We become more aware of the things we normally take for granted: the warm sun on our skin, the color of the sky, a smile from a friend.

All are small reminders that life is a gift to be used and shared to its fullest. But life itself should be a reminder enough.

Inhale. Exhale. You are alive.

You are here fully present on this earth, exposed to every miracle that science, religion, and humanity can muster. You have 10 fingers to touch, grasp, fix, and feel anything within your reach. You have two feet that can take you anywhere on this entire planet. You have a mind capable of inventing new technologies that we can’t imagine in this present moment.

We are living miracles. If we kept that thought at the forefront of our minds, our problems wouldn’t seem like problems at all.

My phone doesn’t have an HD camera or a rose gold shell. But I can call anyone I want, no matter where they are, just by pushing a few buttons.

My parents are embarrassing me. But I have parents.

The reality check that comes with the death of a loved one is a small glimmer of light in the midst of darkness. It becomes brighter when it also shines through others.

I was shy in high school. I found a small group of friends freshman year and essentially stayed in that group until I graduated. Sure, I knew of everyone else (not hard to do in a class of 65), but I didn’t really know them. Until a few days ago, I hadn’t interacted with most of them in three years. Now we’re making a collective effort to reconnect — not just to remember Dak, but to make up for lost time. I only wish we had done it sooner, and under different circumstances.

So live before death reminds you that we are mortal. Smile before the sadness. Embrace every relationship you have, because life is worth enjoying at every moment. Even the ones we encounter every day.

And Dak, I hope you’re chuckling and shaking your head, because you sure do have a big group of friends down here thinking about you.