I stared blankly at the chess board, trying to find my path to winning. My grandpa loved to play chess. We had been sitting there for over two hours playing. Not speaking just watching, analyzing each move the other person made. The Hawaiian breeze snuck in through the window. We played for hours without stopping. Each move took over fifteen minutes because we shared a competitive nature, something that runs in my family. Losing was like waving a white flag on a battlefield. One mistake and your whole plan could fall in front of your eyes. I loved spending time together with him. 

In the fall of 2021, my mom told me the news. My grandpa had cancer. I was in 7th grade and had just turned 12 years old. I remember riding in the car and one of my sisters asking, “Will he get better?” The morbid look on my mom’s face spoke the words she couldn’t say. I understood. There was nothing that would save him. So, that year for Thanksgiving break, my family and my grandparents took a trip to Hawaii, one that was meant for goodbyes. It would be the last time I would ever see him. No words can describe the feeling you get when you know someone you love will die. Sad, but it’s more than that. Anxious, even though you know how the story will end. You begin to grieve someone that’s not gone yet. I even got jealous hearing people my age talk about their grandparents, knowing one of mine wouldn’t even see me start 8th grade. Most of all, I was afraid. 

When we got to Hawaii, I prepared myself to see the version of my grandpa that I wasn’t used to. The one that time and cancer had stolen from me. But to my surprise, he still looked the same. However, it wasn't enough to ease my fear. I was scared of the future: what his decline might look like, regretting not spending enough time with him, or avoiding dealing with this at all. I spent my time on that trip preoccupying myself with activities, surfing, swimming, and anything else I could do. Desperately trying not to think about the inevitable outcome of his fate. One night, we went to dinner, and he began to tell his stories. The ones about life, lessons, and family. The kind that made me question if  I even knew him at all. One of my favorites was about when he failed to earn his college degree, then turned it down years later when it was offered to him. It was at the dinner table when I realized now was my chance. My chance to ask the questions I longed to know the answers to. To make the memories that would turn into my own stories. To hear that advice I desperately needed. 

For the rest of that trip, I spent as much time with him as I could. I played chess with him, drank milkshakes by the beach, and listened to his stories. In those moments, there was no cancer, and this wasn't the last time I would see him. I was just spending time with my grandpa. My grandpa died in April of 2022. 

I realized that worrying about the future won’t change it, and regretting the past won’t fix it. The only thing you can do in life is live in the moment. Make the most of your time and live each minute like it could be your last. Treat each of life’s mundane moments like one that could turn into your greatest story, because time never stops. Not for the grieving, not for the happy, and not for the scared.