Tomorrow . . . ?

Another take on being in the "now"

She greeted me warmly, welcoming me to the writer’s group. Her questions, and interest in my answers, displayed a keen mind and quick wit.

The natural ability to converse well with a complete stranger, told me she had worked closely with people before she retired. A teacher. Of course.

As an English teacher, she helped immigrants learn to speak, read and write the local language. Her work contributed to each student’s success in their new life.

As a university professor, she taught adults how to write creatively. As a published author, she appeared at writer’s festivals across Australia. Sharing her love of the written word, raised new generations of writers, English speakers and literate communicators.

Walking into a room of strangers at a local writer’s group, was a daunting experience made easier by her friendly and encouraging manner. I had only been going to the weekly meetings for a few weeks, when I found out she had metatastic cancer. Then she stopped coming to the group as the 45-minute drive was too much for her.

This Dahlia symbolises my gratitude for the kindness I received from Moya, even while she was in the final painful stages of cancer. Fly free from the pain. May you reap the rewards of a life well-lived. ~KBQ

Last week we got the sad news of her passing. It hit hard. Which surprised me. After all, I had only shared a few conversations with her at the writer’s group. Thinking about it this past week, I realised why.

Moya made an impact on me because of her kind spirit.

As a newcomer to this small town, she made me feel welcome. (As did all the others in the writer’s group.) That sense of welcome, where others make room in their already busy and full lives, for someone new, is a rare and special thing in these times. Even more so, when a person is facing the last months of their own life. I will always remember Moya as a kind, welcoming and generous person.

~ ~ ~

Today I have been reading some of her writing. It is beautiful. Her way with words resonates deeply.

I will never get to tell her that. Which makes me sad.

Now I will no longer wait for “tomorrow” to read someone’s work, show appreciation or kindness to someone.

I will do it now.

Tomorrow may be too late.