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Death will come: that is assured. None of this will go on forever. Our lives will end, perhaps when we’re least expecting it.

It doesn’t really matter to me if those who called me to a better way all those years ago didn’t know they were calling me to a better way. It doesn’t matter if their intentions were something else entirely. Whatever they intended, the end was good.

I may be forgotten, but they are remembered, as they always were. I pray that one day they will recall events long gone, wherein they called me to respect their way. That was how I interpreted their interventions then.

Ironically, I saw in their way something to cling fast to, whereas they saw only things to jettison. I held fast, and they let go. I took their words seriously; they just threw them to the wind.

If I could reach them, I would call back to them, just as they once called out to me. But I suppose they will never comprehend how my life was touched by those interactions back then. For them, just fleeting moments, long gone.

But soon enough, life itself will seem like that. A fleeting moment to eternity, when awoken to our true reality. In that epoch we will recall that we lived our lives for just a part of a day. But by then it will be too late for regrets. For putting things right.