From The Crimson White, 6/21/07

"Learn it while you've got the time"

My last final exam for the spring was May 10, and for me that day was all about what the future would hold. In one day I was going home to Mobile; in two days I was going to board an airplane to Costa Rica.

That night I was rushing to say goodbye to a few friends still in town, clean up my apartment and pack for my trip. In Spanish Fort, I knew that my mom and grandmother, "Grammy," who lived down the street from us my whole life, were expecting my arrival. I was supposed to go down the same day I finished exams, but my errands were too much to accomplish by then.

Some time between doing the dishes and moving boxes I got a call from my sister Rachel. I was sitting down, the lights were dim, and that's all I remember aside from the first words she told me.

"Grammy died," Rachel said, followed by details, followed by questions. But the world was mute all of a sudden, and I looked side to side without a clue of what I was searching for.

My heart sank, and even the voice of my conscience was hoarse. I didn't know what to think, what to do or what to say. So I sat on my living room couch for a long time and didn't say a word to myself.

Had I gone home that night, I would have been with my mom when she discovered my grandmother. She was in her chair, across from the television, as any guest found her when they stopped by, normally just rising from a nap. When you knocked she would turn and throw you a big, giggly smile that would rush the color back into her pale face. She loved people; her heart never failed her in that sense.

But that night she had gone to bed for good, and I was lying on my back, with a million unfinished projects around me, trying to make sense of it all.

I was not the best grandson. I didn't visit Grammy as often as I could have or, more importantly, should have. I don't know what made me do it, because any time I passed up a chance to stop by I knew I was making a mistake. My other grandparents had died a long time ago, and she was the only one I ever knew personally.

And this is what was so profound for me on that Thursday night: I knew the lesson of my grandmother's death before it even came to pass. That all the time I was going to make one day to catch up with her was running out while I watched it pile up.

She used to pick me up from school. She would make egg sandwiches and let me watch cartoons at her house. When I was sick, even on the many days I was faking it, she would visit and make sure I had everything I needed. She loved me and I loved her, so why didn't I ever open up to her about it?

The only thing I know now is it's too late to settle any of that with her. I pushed my flight back one day so I could go to her funeral in Robertsdale that Saturday. My own feelings aside, I knew Ruth (Grammy) Newcomb was one of the fortunate people who got to die peacefully in their favorite chair in their own home, not in a hospital or nursing home where the staff members can be as cold as the tile floor. It was what she wanted, and the peace of having that almost seemed to glow from her body as she lay in her casket.

Without much time to think, I swallowed her passing with a straight face and left for Costa Rica, where I'd have three months to let it sink in, and now two months left until I see her house as an empty one for the first time.

On June 13, I got more bad news from Rachel. My 79-year-old cousin Louise, one of the few lasting gems of Old South society and whose story is worth a series of columns, died from a stroke. If my grandmother's death brought home the point of not putting things off, Louise's death nailed it to the wall just for the sake of cruelty.

Family life is going to be different when I get home. The death of loved ones is always the start of a new era, but that's another point. The important thing is to make the most of your time and that of others, even if you see them every day.

We don't know when "goodbye" will be, where it will happen or who is next. People die, and unfinished business can last forever, so choose your priorities carefully. Put off mowing the lawn and put off getting your hair cut, but when you need to say something to someone you love - for your own sake - say it.