Imagine working for 35 years, retiring on Friday, and being dead by Monday.
There was an elderly man who worked with my Dad at the University of Lagos Admin, in the Mathematics Department, alongside the late Prof. Chike Obi. For as long as I can remember, he was known as a hardworking and dedicated man. Every morning before sunrise, he would arrive on campus with his lunch box in one hand and his car keys in the other. Rain or shine, good days or bad days, he showed up. People often asked him when he was going to slow down and enjoy life a little. He always gave the same answer with a smile: “When I retire.” His wife wanted them to travel. “When I retire.” My father and his colleagues encouraged him to take breaks and join them on trips. “When I retire.” His children wanted more of his time. “When I retire.” Over the years, those three words became his answer to almost everything. He truly believed there would always be time later.
After 35 years of service, retirement finally came. His last day was a Friday. The department celebrated him. There were speeches, laughter, photographs, gifts, and heartfelt tributes from people who had worked with him for decades. He went home that evening happier than anyone had seen him in years. The burden of work was finally behind him. On Saturday, he sat with family and spoke excitedly about places he wanted to visit and things he wanted to do. On Sunday, he attended church with his wife, came home, shared a meal with his family, laughed, watched television, and went to bed looking forward to the next chapter of his life. For the first time in 35 years, there was no alarm to set and no office waiting for him on Monday morning.
He never woke up. Sometime during the night, he passed away peacefully in his sleep. No prolonged illness. No warning. No final conversation. By Monday morning, the same family that had spent years talking about retirement was surrounded by relatives discussing funeral arrangements. My father never forgot it, and neither have I. What makes the story so painful is not that he died, because death comes for us all. It is that he got so close. Thirty-five years of sacrifice, hard work, postponed vacations, delayed dreams, and promises of “someday.” Then someday finally arrived, and he only got a weekend. Life has a way of reminding us that tomorrow is a privilege, not a guarantee. Spend time with your family. Visit that place you’ve always wanted to see. Make memories with the people you love. Don’t postpone every joy waiting for the perfect time, because sometimes the future we are saving our happiness for never comes.