“The Thing They Never Did”

The headstone was simple, just a name, two dates, and a dash in between. That dash was supposed to hold a lifetime. I stood there, looking at it, and whispered the words I had never said when they were alive:
“You could have done it.” You should have done it. But you did not.”

They had a dream once oh, it was beautiful. The kind of dream that lights you up from the inside and makes you feel young no matter your age. They wanted to see the world, to author the book that had been sitting in their head for years, to open that little shop with the blue door they used to talk about at dinner.

But then came Fear.

Fear did not show up all at once. It crept in slowly like a draft under a door.

“It’s too risky.”
“What if you fail?”
“What will people think?”

And so, they waited. They told themselves: “Next year. When the kids are older. When the bills are smaller. When I feel more ready.” But here is the thing: “ready” never came. And the years did not slow down for them.

I watched the dream shrink. At first, it was something they talked about with fire in their eyes. Then it became a casual “maybe someday.” Eventually, they stopped mentioning it altogether. It was as if their dream had been folded up and placed in a drawer somewhere, too delicate to touch.

They lived a “safe” life. Paid the bills. Stayed in their lane. Smiled in photos. But I knew deep down they were haunted. It was not the failure that scared them most. It was the thought of trying and finding out they were not good enough. So, they did not try. And that choice built a prison they carried everywhere.

On their last day, as they lay there, they did not talk about work or money or mistakes. They just said softly, “I wish I had…” and then the tears came. Fear had stolen their dream. And regret was the thief’s shadow that followed them to the grave.

Now here I am, looking at that headstone, thinking about my own dreams. Because the truth is, the scariest thing in life is not dying. It is reaching the end and realizing you never really lived.

2025 Roger Campbell Sr. Over 60 Dam™. All Rights Reserved.