Are you preparing for your departure? What if you had only one day left to live?!

Days slip through our fingers in silence, until we turn around to discover that entire lifetimes have passed like a fleeting glance. We often live as if tomorrow is an acquired right, and that life always has room for everything we postpone today: an apology we never voiced, a right we never returned, a kinship tie we severed, and a repentance we defer to a time we deem more suitable. But what if there is no more suitable time? What if you knew with certainty that this night is your last, and that tomorrow’s sun will rise while you have already left this world? What would you do with the remaining hours? Who would you seek out? And what things would you suddenly realize were not worth all that worry? Perhaps death does not change the value of things so much as it reveals their true worth. If a person knew they had only one day left, many of the illusions that had occupied them for years would fall away. The question would no longer be: How much do I own? Who won the dispute? How do others see me? Instead, the question would become more honest and more daunting to face: What will remain of me? Did I wrong anyone? Did I fall short in the rights of those who loved me? Did I apologize to those I had wronged? And did I leave behind a legacy worth preserving? As the end approaches, the world does not change; only our perspective on it changes. Fame, disputes, and competitions recede, and many things that once seemed great lose their power to capture our attention. Suddenly, we realize that hours spent in anger were not worth it, that a small pride may have deprived us of reconciliation, and that the word “tomorrow” might be the most dangerous word in the dictionary of procrastination. How many “I love you”s remained unspoken in the heart? How many “forgive me”s died on the tip of the tongue? How many visits were postponed until meeting became impossible? How many rights, which we knew belonged to their owners, did we tell ourselves we would return later? At that point, the question will not be: Who won the dispute? But rather: Why did I let the dispute consume my life in the first place? If a person knows their departure is near, they will not carry with them a desire to triumph over anyone. They will try to return rights, seek forgiveness, reconnect with kin, and close the doors of disputes that no longer deserve to remain open. Some battles are not worth taking into our graves, and some words we consider victories may become heavier for us than the loss itself. Perhaps the greatest courage at the end of the road is for a person to simply say: I was wrong. Not every apology is a sign of weakness, not every retreat is a defeat, and not every forgiveness is a sign of frailty. Sometimes, the greatest victory for a human being is to triumph over their own pride before the day arrives when they can no longer repair anything. The Holy Quran reminds us of the reality of regret when it says: “Until, when death comes to one of them, he says, ‘My Lord, send me back [to life] that I might do righteousness in that which I left behind.’” A person may recognize the value of an opportunity, but they do not fully grasp its cost until it is beyond their reach. Imagine a merchant who is informed that his shop will close at midnight, and that before closing, he must settle his debts, return trusts, and finalize his accounts. Would he busy himself with changing the facade’s decor? Or would he sit before his ledgers to settle his final account? That is our image in this life. We live in a temporary shop, but we sometimes treat it as if the keys will remain in our hands forever. We chase the facade, accumulate things, pursue appearances, and preoccupy ourselves with those who preceded us and those who surpassed us, while forgetting that the true final account is not: How much did we accumulate? But rather: What did we do with what we accumulated? We may not know when our last day will be, but we know with certainty that it has an appointed time. Therefore, perhaps the most important question is not: What will I do if I have only one day left in my life? But the harder and more honest question: What will I do today, if I knew I would not have tomorrow? For wisdom is not to live each day as if it were the last, but to live each day in a way that makes us not ashamed if it were the last.