“It’s time to move on,” they say, “it’s time to let go.” But what if I’m not ready? What if… what if I want to stay? Or at least say goodbye?

It all happened so fast, I’m still not convinced this isn’t all just a dream. And yet, I know it’s real, because it hurts too much to be a dream.

Like it or not, here I am. Watching as my mother cries, and seeing my brothers’ tormented eyes.

Oh, how I wish this were a dream! But I watched them plan the funeral, I watched them move the body, I watched them close the casket and bury it six feet down. I watched everyone I love die right before my eyes. Their hearts ripped from their bodies and their souls rent into pieces.

And I’m just standing here. Frozen in place.

“It’s time to move on,” they say again, “it’s time to let go.” But what if I’m still not ready? What if… what if I want to stay? Or at least say goodbye?

I don’t think I can leave, not yet, not now. There’s so much left to say, so much left to do. I can’t just walk away from it all.

It’s odd how death wakes a person up, shakes them from the blinding slumber of routine. Death makes one realize forever does not exist in this world.

Looking around, I realize what a fool I’ve been. These people are my life. The very joy of my existence. I love them more than life itself, but they don’t know that…I’ve never told them.

All these years and I’ve never been able to find the words to express the deepest feelings of my heart, until now.

And now it’s too late.

Of course now I have the courage. Of course now I have the words. Of course now that I’m dead, I finally know what to say.

I only had to die to find the words.

It’s ironic, really. Now that I’m dead I know everything I should have said before I died.

“It’s time to move on,” they say once more, “it’s time to let go.” I’m not ready. I want to stay. At the very least to say goodbye.

Tears pour down my face as a thousand angel arms wrap around me. It should be comforting, but it’s not. Nothing can comfort a soul that’s realized every chance they thought they had is dashed to pieces.

The game is up.

My time ran out.

And I never even got to say goodbye.

Oh, what a wretched son I am! Oh, what a wretched brother I am! Why didn’t I use the time I had?! Why did I let myself live like there would always be a tomorrow?!

If only I could have known, then I would have said it all. If I knew I wouldn’t live to see tomorrow, I would have lived as such.

But now it’s too late.

They will never know. They will never feel my love for them.

“It’s time to move on,” they say one last time, “it’s time to let go.”

“But what if I’m not ready? What if… what if I want to stay? Or at least say goodbye?”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that now my son. Your time has passed, but the time will soon come when you will get the chance again. For now you must follow me.

Come home.”

I turn to follow, leaving my life behind.

Too late did I learn that although you never regret your love, you forever regret your silence.