Five More Minutes

When I first learned how to read, I hated it. I can’t remember why I hated it, but I did. Until one Christmas, I fell madly, completely, totally in love with books. The set I received Christmas morning was a collection of Disney tales bound with the well-known golden edge.

Those books changed my world. From that day forward, I was never without a book in my hands. I wanted to read everywhere, and all the time. If I was outside I wanted a book. If I was in the car, I wanted a book. If I was going to bed, I most likely had a book tucked beneath the covers. Because I knew, there was always a possibility my mom would only give me a few minutes to read. And it never failed, my time would be up just as I was getting to the good part. Or the end of a chapter would almost be upon me, and my time would be up. So I would ask, “Please just five more minutes?”

Five more minutes. Five more minutes to find out if the bad guy lost. Five more minutes to find out if the wild west was won. Five more minutes to feel the satisfying closure of knowing what happens next.

So I start thinking about all the times I wish I had five more minutes.

I wish I had five more minutes to sleep. (hit snooze button)

I wish I had five more minutes to curl my hair. (why did I hit that snooze button)

I wish I had five more minutes before I have to catch the bus. (why do we even have a snooze button)

Most of the time, I just wish I had five more minutes with my dad… At least, sometimes I do.

Really and truly? I wish I had a lot more than five minutes. Because I don’t think I would be able to even form words in five minutes if he were standing right in front of me. I would just bawl for those five minutes.

I had a dream once, about six months after he died. I was standing in the parking lot at church, when all of a sudden he started walking up the driveway. In my dream I knew he had passed away, so the sight of him sent me into shrieks, and I started running towards him. I threw myself into his arms and started saying over and over, “You’re back! You’re back! I can’t believe you’re back!”

My joy was short lived when he whispered in my ear, “I only came back so that I could say goodbye.” As my tears flowed I asked, “Why? Why do you have to leave again?”

The dream ended with me gripping my dad’s neck tightly, sobbing uncontrollable, only to have him have to leave me. I woke up bawling, and feeling alone. (sometimes my dreams have nothing to do with superheroes and saving the world. sometimes they just hurt)

In that moment, I would have given almost anything to have those five minutes with my dad. I didn’t get to say goodbye. That 14 year old version of myself didn’t get to say "I love you", or "please don't leave me." I just stood in a hospital room, holding my dad’s ice-cold fingers, whispering in his ear that I loved him. Except he couldn’t respond. And even though they say hearing is the last thing to go, I still don’t know if he heard me. 

I know it sounds like I have a lot of regrets, but honestly, I don't. The time I had with my dad was fantastic. He was my best friend. He was my hero. He was my inspiration. And he was my biggest fan. I miss him, and I miss him everyday. 

The only regret I really have is I didn’t get to say goodbye. Not in the traditional sense anyway. So when I longingly hope and wish for five more minutes, it is mostly for closure. Because in being honest with myself, I selfishly want him for more than five minutes. I want him forever, but that cannot be. However, I can reminisce for five minutes. I can rejoice in knowing he is with Jesus. I can fondly and with much mirth and laughter relive the memories we made.

And I can fully live with and appreciate those whom I am around everyday. Which is what he would have wanted me to do.

I can spend five more minutes with someone today.

I can take five more minutes and write someone a note. Make a phone call. Send a text.

I can spend five more minutes living life to the fullest so there are no regrets.

The greatest gift my dad gave me was teaching me to live in the moment. To embrace those around you. To laugh freely and with abandon. To take the most random moment to tell someone how you feel about them. He taught me to live.

So my desire for those five more minutes is purely selfish. I really just want to hug my dad. I want to hold his hand. Hear his laugh.

Those things cannot be, but the things that can, I will embrace. 

We all should. Regardless of time constraints or schedules. Take the time. Be present. Be alive. Be here.

Because you might not have five more minutes… so use the ones you have.