Not long ago I had the terrible yet wonderful honor of sitting with a loved one as they neared death. The world and its workings ceased to exist outside the confines of that room, and all that mattered was being at her bedside. The usual parade of medical attendants and visitors cycled through each day, bringing medicines, meals, flowers, comfort, and goodbyes. My beloved friend was much too young to go, yet there was unfortunately nothing to be done, and the end crept ever closer. Although, I suppose that’s true for all of us, our individual endings will always be too soon, potentially lurking nearby.

Being with dying people is much like being adrift at sea, unable to access solid ground, vulnerable to tides, waves, and forces that are far more powerful than any human. I discovered this as I glided along with her, my heart breaking as I helped to escort her towards her final destination. Everything is different when you’re floating alongside imminent death; how we use language, feel time, even the light and air shift somehow.

In the course of those murky days, I heard my friend gently repeat ‘take your time’ to nearly every character that happened upon her bedside. The nurse changing out an IV bag or her nephew carefully delivering a vase of flowers were sweetly reminded to take their time. No matter the visitor or the task, she would suggest they slow down a bit. During a lull in activity, I asked her why she been repeating that phrase so often. Her answer will stay with me always;

“Throughout my life I was constantly in a rush! Projects, conversations, chores, driving, even putting my child to bed. I hustled through so many moments, eager to move on to the next thing, and the next. Looking back now, I wish I savored every single thing. Instead of frantic little sips, I wish I’d taken long deep gulps. So take your time, even for the mundane stuff. One day you’ll even miss doing the dishes.”

Years went by after she passed, and though I missed her, life moves on, as it does. I found myself gnashing my teeth as I furiously dashed from one task to the other. I banged out emails, hastily hung laundry on the line, sloshed water into the dog’s bowl, my mind racing ahead to what else needed tending. Days jumbled into weeks, weeks cascaded into months, and looking back, life had become a hazy slog with waning joy.

Until I happened upon an old card from my friend signed; ‘take your time”. I realized that once again, the succulence of life eluded my grasp in favor of the impossible goal of doing it all.

September is a month often marked by a flurry of activity as we emerge from the groggy heat of summer. September is when we’re supposed to roll up our sleeves to get back to work and school. There’s so much to cram into our days, so many responsibilities to fulfill, that it’s no wonder we end up blindly rushing though with little pause or reflection.

Please allow yourself to drink in the golden beauty of September. Take your time and marvel at blue skies, revel in the abundance of late summer and early fall, and breathe deep. When we take our time and infuse care into even the lowliest of tasks, we are able to magically slow the unspooling of our precious limited days and savor this one life.