There is one day in my life that I wish I could relive.
Not the day everything changed.
But the day before.
In just a few months, it will be sixteen years since I lost my father. Yet, it still feels like yesterday.
Two days before my birthday, my father passed away in a tragic accident. He was only 52 years old.
No matter how many years go by, that moment will always be part of me.
At the time, I had just moved into my new home. The next day, I was planning to celebrate my birthday, and of course, my father was invited.
The day before my birthday, he wanted to come over and help me prepare everything for the party.
I told him not to.
I said, "Just come tomorrow and enjoy yourself."
At the time, it felt like the right thing to say. I didn't want him to work. I wanted him to relax and simply enjoy the celebration with me.
But tomorrow never came.
That conversation has stayed with me ever since.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering what would have happened if I had simply said, "Yes, come over."
Would we have spent a few more hours together?
Would we have laughed, talked, or shared one last cup of coffee?
For a long time, I blamed myself for that decision. Deep down, I know what happened was never my fault, but losing someone you love has a way of making you replay every conversation and every choice, wondering if anything could have been different.
Of course, I know I can't change what happened.
None of us can.
Life doesn't give us the chance to go back and rewrite yesterday.
Even so, there are moments when I still wish I could relive that one day—not to change the future, because I know that's impossible, but simply to spend a little more time with my father.
To hug him one more time.
To thank him.
To tell him how much he meant to me.
Losing someone you love changes you forever.
The pain becomes softer over the years, but it never truly disappears. Instead, it becomes part of who you are.
That experience also taught me something important.
Never assume there will always be another tomorrow.
Spend time with the people you love.
Make the phone call.
Accept the invitation.
Say "I love you."
Take the photo.
Create the memory.
Because one ordinary day can become the memory you hold onto for the rest of your life.
If I could relive one day, I know exactly which day it would be.
Not because I believe I could change what happened.
But because one more ordinary day with my dad would have been the greatest gift I could ever receive.
To everyone reading this: if someone you love is still here today, don't wait for a special occasion to let them know how much they mean to you.
Sometimes, the moments we think are ordinary become the ones we miss the most.
Love, Shavida
