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Laura T RN BSN's avatar

Truth

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Shy's avatar

This landed with painful clarity this morning. Thank you for the reminder — timely, in more ways than one.

We often speak about time as if it's abstract — hours, weeks, to-do lists. But what we’re really talking about, if we dare to go deeper, is death. The fact that we won’t always be here. And yet, somehow, we live as if we’re immortal — knowing full well that we’re not.

I remember reading The Five Regrets of the Dying by the Australian palliative care nurse — I must have loaned it out because I can't find it now. But it marked me. And it aligns with what Seneca speaks to in Letters from a Stoic, and what Muggeridge wrestled with when writing on the prospect of death. Not to paralyse us with morbidity, but to reorient us. To strip away the illusion that we have forever to figure things out.

When death becomes a compass, not a threat, we begin to measure moments differently:

The good ones become more luminous, because we know they're fleeting.

The painful ones become more survivable, because we remember they too are brief.

Time, in this frame, becomes not just a resource, but a reverent lens. It exposes the lie that our worth is in status, wealth, or even the relationship — because those only gain value through the lens of finitude. And even health, that elusive modern grail, only matters if it is aligned with presence.

If we are lucky enough to reach the end of our lives with the breath to reflect, what will matter most is the meaning we chose to give it. And whether we shaped that meaning with awareness of the gift — and the expiry — of time.

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