Wednesday, 2 March 2016
Today someone from my workplace died suddenly in a car crash.
I didn't know her well but it sent shockwaves through the building and understandably those who knew her well were very distressed.
She had a husband and daughter who was in her late teens.
I got on with my day but my mind keep returning to it.
Couldn't work out why.
Then a colleague stopped by my desk - "just goes to show, you have to say hello and goodbye every day to your family. You never know when it will be the last time you see them. Couldn't imagine what it's like to have someone die suddenly like that without a chance to say goodbye".
And then I realised what was eating at me.
When I was 18 - many years ago - my father Graeme Maxwell Hough died of a heart attack at his work. He was 42.
My parents had divorced three years earlier and he was living a two hour drive away.
While I still saw dad, it had been a few months.
We'd talked on the phone the week before, just the usual catchup but he'd asked if I had some time and of course I was busy being an 18 year old party girl and put him off.
I found out via a phone call at work.
Today bought it back again, thinking of that young woman receiving devastating news.
Not that it ever really goes away. Time removes how raw it is but it's there, buried under the layers of life.
So tonight I'm going home from work a little earlier and when I get there I'll hug those I love a little longer. Cos I can.