Lessons From a Farewell
As I sat in the last pew, close to the aisle in a small church in a town in the East Midlands, the first hymn began to rise, but my mind drifted far from the melody. It was the service of songs for my late friend and instead of singing, I found myself thinking deeply. My thoughts spiralled into that familiar place: should have, could have, would have. A place where reflection meets regret.
We had plans, real plans to bring our families together after postponing for far too long. I had almost booked the hotel before the news broke. She never gave us any sign, nothing obvious. … a rare kind of human. Selfless, humble and sacrificial. The kind who didn’t just show up, but went above and beyond.
When we first arrived in this country, she and her family became a support system we didn’t even know we needed. From connecting us to the right people, showing up with gifts, to simply being present: they made settling in feel less like survival and more like belonging.
The turnout at her burial said everything. People came from all walks of life, far and wide. Lives she had touched quietly, consistently, showed up to honour her loudly. I had just finished a 12-hour night shift, travelled nearly three hours to attend, and drove back immediately to resume another 13-hour shift. Yet, somehow, it still didn’t feel like enough.
That’s the kind of impact she had. As tributes poured in, one after the other, I found myself not just mourning her but learning from her.
She wasn’t even 40 yet. That number stayed with me and challenged something many of us hold onto, the idea that life can be postponed. That enjoyment can wait and fulfilment can be scheduled for “later.” Later is not guaranteed.
We often build our lives around delayed gratification and say things like: “Once I make more money…” “After I settle down…” “When things are more stable…”Then I’ll enjoy life. What if that “then” never comes?
This experience reminded me that life must be lived in instalments. Joy isn’t something to hoard for the future but something to experience now, in moments. Celebrate the small wins, mark the milestones, take the trips and laugh loudly. Rest when you can and love deeply. Tomorrow is not a promise. It is a gift and not everyone gets to unwrap it.
If the first lesson challenged how I view time, the second one confronted how I use it. We kept postponing our visit. It was not out of bad intentions but because life kept happening. Work, schedules, convenience, etc. We assumed there would always be another time. Until there wasn’t. “Let’s fix a date soon.” “Maybe next month.”We’ll plan it properly.”We said all the right things and still delayed. Now, that opportunity is gone.
Procrastination doesn’t always look like laziness. Sometimes, it looks like a reasonable delay. However, its effect is the same. It quietly steals moments that never return. So here’s the truth I’ve taken from this: Call that loved one, visit that friend and start that course. Build that idea, apply for that opportunity and have that conversation. Don’t wait for perfect timing. It doesn’t exist.
There was something else. Something even more powerful revealed itself that day. People showed up. It was not out of obligation, but out of honour. They drove for hours, left work shifts, sat, stood and waited just to pay their respects. You don’t command that kind of presence in death unless you lived a life that truly mattered in life.
That moment said more than words ever could. It was proof that being a good person still counts. That kindness is not wasted, that showing up for people, consistently and sincerely, builds something deeper than visibility. It builds legacy.
She didn’t live loudly, but impactfully. In the end, that’s what echoed. Not titles, achievements or possessions. People, lives touched, hearts helped, burden shared and presence given. It made me ask myself a hard question: If my story paused today, who would show up and why?
Be good, help people, show up when it matters and go beyond when you can. One day, the room will answer for you. Life is fragile. However, not in a way that should scare us but in a way that should wake us up. My late friend lived a life that mattered. It wasn’t how long it was, but how well it was lived and how deeply it touched others.
Maybe that’s the real question for the rest of us: Are we living in a way that truly counts? Let this not just be a moment of reflection but a turning point.
Start living and doing. Start now.
