We all do it. We see a call come in at an inconvenient time and think, I’ll call them back later. But sometimes, later never comes.
It was two years ago when I lost my dear friend Lee. We’d known each other for years, the kind of friends who could go months without speaking but always picked up right where we left off. Lee had this easy way about him — calm, unassuming, very Floridian, and always there when I needed him.
Lee was my first real friend when I moved to the U.S. I had attended a Halloween party at the SeaWalk Hotel in Jax Beach, where Lee was the handyman. We struck up a conversation, and as fate would have it, we discovered that we were next-door neighbors just a few blocks away. Lee and I could not have been more different, but we quickly became fast friends. He likely saw how naive I was about American culture and navigating this new landscape, and he took me under his wing. I was still too scared to drive on what I called “the wrong side of the road” and terrified of those wide American highways. I had a car, but it may as well have been a lawn ornament because I wasn’t going anywhere in it!
Lee, being the patient soul that he was, would come by after work to take me on errands or for groceries. He even helped me furnish my tiny beach rental, installing leftover pieces from his woodworking projects. And when I finally mustered the courage to drive, it was Lee who sat beside me as I awkwardly learned to navigate the roads. It was a miracle he didn’t bolt from the car the moment I tried to exit the highway without signaling! But that was Lee — steadfast, patient, and, let’s be honest, maybe deserving of sainthood for putting up with my driving. He wasn’t just there for the little things. When I had surgery to remove an ulcer, Lee slept on my couch until I recovered. That was the kind of friend he was. A rock when I needed one.
After a short year in Jacksonville Beach, I moved to California. Our friendship went long distance, but the connection never wavered. Daily calls or texts kept us close. When I got married and had my first child, I brought my little family back to Jacksonville Beach to meet Lee. We stayed at his house, where he lived with his ailing father. I still treasure the memories of Lee’s elderly dad playing the banjo to my toddler, who watched with wide-eyed wonder.
But as life happens, I got busier. Marriage, motherhood, career — they all took up more and more space in my life, and I became a less attentive friend. Lee, however, never changed. He continued to call regularly, checking in on me like clockwork, always showing up — even from a distance. I knew that if I ever needed him, he’d be there, no questions asked, no matter the distance. Then, two years ago, Lee called me at 1 a.m. I was half asleep, saw his name flash on my phone, and without thinking, I muted it and went back to sleep. The next day, I forgot all about it. Weeks went by. One day, it hit me — I hadn’t heard from Lee in a while. I started calling, but his number, which had been the same for years, wasn’t working. His father had passed away shortly after I introduced him to my family, and I didn’t know any of Lee’s other relatives. Desperate, I turned to Facebook, messaging anyone I could find who might know something.
Eventually, his niece responded. She told me that Lee had passed away from a massive stroke. It happened quickly — there was nothing anyone could have done. She thanked me for being his friend and wished me peace of mind. But peace of mind is hard to come by when you realize that Lee’s call, the one I ignored, had come just hours before he passed away. He needed me. Maybe he just wanted to talk, or maybe there was something important he wanted to say. I’ll never know. What I do know is that I didn’t answer the call, and I’ve regretted it every day since. We often take for granted the time we have with the people we care about, assuming there will always be another chance, another conversation. But Lee’s passing taught me that life is unpredictable. We don’t know how much time we have, and we don’t know when that last call might come. So now, when someone calls, I pick up. Maybe it’s nothing urgent. Maybe it’s just to chat. But maybe, just maybe, it’s something I’ll be glad I didn’t miss.
In a world where we’re often too busy, where calls get ignored, and texts go unanswered, my message is simple: Pick up the phone. You never know what that call might mean, and you never know if it’ll be your last chance to hear their voice. I miss Lee. I miss his calm wisdom and his quick wit.
But most of all, I miss the conversation we never got to have.
