Still grieving over the fresh wound that is my wife’s death, I am comforted by the fact that I always tried to make “I love you” the last words I said when we parted.
“Drive carefully; I love you.” “Sweet dreams; I love you.” “Have a nice day; I love you.” It began to sound automatic, like an afterthought, but I made sure to say it, always conscious that someday there would be a last time. I didn’t want to have that regret. I always was nervous on those occasional times I neglected doing it or simply forgot.
Red would laugh at me when I hugged Willow The Best Dog There Is™ for no other reason than I knew my furry companion would be gone in a few years. But treasuring moments as they happen — remembering how fleeting it all can be — etches the memories that much deeper into the soul, to be called back when haunted by their absence.
I have regrets, but not saying “I love you” enough is not among them. My word of advice to those who love.