Time.

Time. It’s limited. It’s sacred. Something I took for granted.

Summer rolled around and it was time  for our annual family reunion I decided that I wasn’t going because  “I didn’t feel like it”.

“The family is bowling, lets go”. I lied “I don’t feel good, i’ll stay home”

“Lets go over Tony’s house” I was quick to respond “I can’t I have an essay due tomorrow”

I turned down so many other occasions after these, it's unbelievable. So many times to see my family members and make memories, down the drain.  So many opportunities to see my cousins, aunts, and uncles. So many events I could see my cousin, Tony.

The next time I would see Tony would be in a casket. Lying motionless and achromatic. Dead from gunshot wounds at the young age of 27. At this very moment I wanted to go back in time and relive moments I passed up on.

Instead of happy moments of us laughing, I only have memories of him lying in the casket with bullets still in him.

Going back I would not be selfish, I would cherish every moment, and have memories that I could look back on.

Time.