A Sunday View from a Pew: The Reservation None of Us Can Cancel

I received a call recently that shook me to my core. A college classmate — someone I had laughed and reminisced with at our recent class reunion — had passed away. His death hit me harder than I expected, not only because we were the same age, but because his passing leaves only three Black male graduates from the Ottawa University Class of 1978. And I am one of them.

Over the past few days, two of us have found ourselves reflecting — not just on him, but on us. On time. On purpose. On how quickly the days have started to outnumber the dreams. Conversations that once revolved around plans and possibilities now linger on legacy and peace. We’ve all come to the same sobering realization: we each have a reservation that cannot be canceled. It’s not on our calendar, but it’s already confirmed. No reminders needed. No rescheduling allowed.

When death visits, it never asks if the timing is right. It shows up quietly, uninvited, and everything else suddenly stops. The first day of loss isn’t the hardest — it’s the busiest. There are calls to make, arrangements to finalize, people to notify. We move through the motions, numb but functional, checking boxes because that’s what life demands in those moments.

But it’s tomorrow that breaks you. When the noise fades, the company leaves, and the phone stops ringing. When you’re left alone with your thoughts and the silence becomes deafening. That’s when grief comes to sit beside you — not rushing, not polite — just present. Heavy and holy all at once.

And yet, even there, in that quiet place where the ache is deepest, something sacred happens. You begin to realize you are not alone. The love that once filled the room still lingers. The laughter still echoes through the corridors of memory. The presence of God — steady, comforting, eternal — sits with you in that silence, reminding you that love doesn’t die, it just changes form.

So yes, we all have a reservation that cannot be canceled. But until that day comes, we get to decide how we live. In the words of The Shawshank Redemption, we can either “get busy dying or get busy living.”

The two of us — from the last three standing from our class — have made our choice. We choose to get busy living. To live fully, love deeply, and thank God daily for another sunrise. Because every day we wake up is a reminder that our reservation hasn’t yet been called… and there’s still work to do before we check in.