What Remains When Time Moves On

Recently, I received a call from a friend of my mother – someone from nearly forty years ago.

She wasn’t on social media and had no way of finding my mom, but somehow, she came across my website and reached out to me. We planned a call… just to reconnect.

What I thought would be a simple conversation turned into something deeply moving.

It felt so pleasant, almost comforting, to speak with someone who had once been so close to my mother. She spoke about those years when we all lived near each other in an apartment complex.

I was just a child. She assumed I wouldn’t remember her. But I did.

Maybe through old photographs… maybe through my mother’s stories… But I remembered her.

Her voice carried the same kindness I imagine it always had. The same warmth.

And yet… there was something else beneath it.

I couldn’t quite name it at first. But as the conversation unfolded, I began to feel it, quietly, gently, but unmistakably.

It was a soft tender loneliness – shaped by time.

She spoke about the past, about the walks she and my mother would take, the visits to each other’s apartments, the long conversations over tea and simple meals. I was part of almost all those memories, a small child always nearby while my father worked and studied long hours.

As she told these stories, her voice carried both joy and something heavier – the weight of time passing.

She hadn’t heard my voice in 39 years. And now here I was – on the other side of the line -not the little girl she remembered, but a grown woman.

And in that moment, I felt it - that quiet realization that time moves forward, whether we are ready or not. That the child is no longer a child and the youth is no longer young.

She told me something that stayed with me.

Back then, both families had very little. An old second-hand car. Simple food. No luxury. No abundance – just enough for rent, basics, and getting by.

“But we had everything,” she said.

We had laughter.

We had genuine conversations.

We had tea and biscuits and simple dinners together.

We had each other's company.

We were happy.

And it was enough.

Then she shared a memory I will not forget.

Around the time my parents were preparing to return to Iran, she found herself feeling frustrated - angry even - though she didn’t understand why.

One day, after I had fallen in the market, she lashed out at my mother, blaming her, calling her careless.

And then… my mother simply smiled and said,

“Sweetheart, it’s not my fault that we have to go back to our homeland.”

And in that moment, she realized – she wasn’t angry at my mother.

She was grieving the loss of her best friend.

We ended the call in emotions. But also with hope.

I told her, God willing, we will have a “version two” of those beautiful gatherings, this time in a new chapter of life. I promised to let her know the next time my parents are here, so we can create new memories together.

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After the call, I found myself sitting with a question:

Do I truly realize what I have?

Am I present enough to appreciate the small, ordinary moments of my life?

Because those “small” moments are our lives quietly passing by.

They are the memories we will one day long to revisit and the pieces of time we will never get back.

I want to look back at my life knowing that I saw the beauty while I was living it.

That I did not miss it.

That I did not get distracted and lose myself in the unimportant.

That I did not major in minor things.

What a beautiful life it would be;

to have loved deeply,

to have noticed fully,

and to have lived each day mindfully.

Of course, there will be hard days, sad days, angry days, disappointing days.

But even then…what if we could find our way back – back to gratitude, to beauty, to the simple quiet joy that life still offers.

Even if not for ourselves, then maybe for a friend, or a laughing child, or even a singing bird returning to the safety of its nest.

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As I sit here in my backyard, a soft breeze moving through my hair, sunlight warming my skin, birds singing around me, and the fragrant air intoxicating my senses, I am reminded that a simple life can be so beautiful if we allow ourselves to fully absorb the colorful memories we make along the way.

My hope is that we all embrace the simple beauties life offers - so that as time passes, we carry no regrets for what we didn’t do, didn’t say, didn’t hear, or didn't notice.

Because in the end, only our memories will remain.

And if you'd like help with that, my door is wide open.

If you enjoyed this reflection, you may also enjoy my blog on love:

https://www.nedacoach.com/post/good-night-love-you-see-you-tomorrow