I am a 40-year-old industrialist. I’ve been a workaholic all my life. Everything I have today is purely because of my own efforts. I have everything money can buy; an expensive house, three sports cars, two vacation houses abroad. I was married for fifteen years to a beautiful woman called Maya. I have two gorgeous daughters; but all of a sudden it seems like I have nothing. Today is the day my wife died a year ago.
I am sitting on a wooden bench near a shimmering lake as the sun sets and wonders why I never brought Maya here. She loved and appreciated all things beautiful as a child would when looking at a rainbow for the first time. Maya always craved my attention but I never seemed to have time for her. All my time was consumed by business meetings, clients, events, details and planning. I called her unreasonable and impatient for never understanding how important my work was to me. I never even got a chance to tell her how important she was to me. [the_ad id=”17141″]
Every time I look at young couples laugh I wish I had laughed more often like that with my wife. Maya had been such a lively spirit who’d almost always been up for anything new at whim. She’d claim that the weather was romantic and wanted me to take her on a long drive, that she felt like going to the beach so we should fly to another city that was next to the sea; that she wanted to go hiking so I should drive her to the closest mountain resort. I was barely ever able to carry out her crazy antics because although I had the money and resources, I was too immersed in my work to comply. I failed to notice that her whimsical demands began to fade with time and began to be replaced by yearning. I never knew I would later pay the price by being haunted by the thought that I had failed to keep her happy.
I have vivid memories of the day of her accident; hearing a stranger’s voice on my cell phone informing me that an over speeding bus had rammed into Maya’s car and that she was on the way to the hospital. She died on the way to the hospital. I couldn’t even be there for her in her last moments. I used to tell Maya that time was money; I never knew that I’d have all the money I wanted and no time with the one who meant the world to me.