This article is part of the series:Advice from a Sister from Another MotherA collection of honest reflections and practical lessons from a 30-something to her 20-something sisters—about love, self-worth, career, money, and navigating this wild thing called life. Written from the other side of the storm—because I might know a thing or two.
Writing from Day 44 — Parting With Our Loved Ones
You know what the biggest lie is?
That everybody lives forever.
That we still have more time.
We whisper it to ourselves so we can scroll a little longer, postpone that phone call, reschedule that dinner, avoid the hug we actually need to give. Because in our heads, love is permanent. People, our loved ones
are permanent. They’ll always be there.
But they won’t.
We make plans like the future is guaranteed—birthdays we’ll celebrate, trips we’ll finally take, dinners we’ll cook “when things slow down.” We map our days as if tomorrow is a promise written in stone.
But life isn’t like that. It doesn’t care about our calendars or our bullet points. It’s fragile, unpredictable, and sometimes brutally short.
When my mom left, I was still holding pieces of tomorrow in my hands—things I thought we’d get to, conversations we hadn’t finished, little promises that will now always stay undone. That’s what grief teaches you, that certainty is an illusion, and the only time that’s ever real is now.
So here’s the truth we can actually trust, today. The hug you can give, the words you can speak, the moment you can share.
Because the future is just a maybe. Love, on the other hand, needs to be lived while we still have the chance.
"Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many."
Time is fragile, sister.
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