You think you have time.
Then you look at your parents.
Their hair is turning gray.
Their steps are slower.
Their pauses last a little longer than they used to.
It is subtle.
Until you start noticing it everywhere.
We tell ourselves:
“I’ll visit more next year.”
“I’ll call when things calm down.”
“I’ll be more present when life slows.”
But here is the math no one likes doing.
If you see your parents twice a year,
and they have ten years left,
You do not have ten years.
You have twenty visits.
That is it.
Twenty conversations.
Twenty hellos.
Twenty goodbyes.
Time is the only thing
you cannot buy back.
Not with money.
Not with success.
Not with regret.
One day, you will realize
the last time you hugged them
already happened.
And you did not know it then.
This is not about guilt.
It is about awareness.
Because love is not measured in intention.
It is measured in presence.
And presence, like time,
is finite.
So call them.
Sit longer.
Listen without rushing.
Not because something is wrong.
But because
something is precious.