I could never understand the fascination which many people express when they talk about traveling in time. The desire of going into future seemed strange: what for, if I will get there in any case? The idea of going back was rather boring, as I have never been keen on history and the perspective of getting into the medieval period with horrible diseases, wars, uncomfortable clothes and obscure etiquette rules was the last thing I would dream of. However, when I was fifteen, I first felt that going back in time could be a possibility to long for. If I could do it, I would choose a day which is neither historic, nor generally important. It would be July 16, a sunny hot day which changed my life forever.
That morning I was lying on the beach. My grandparents had called me earlier and asked if I would like to come for breakfast. I had refused politely and promised to see them in a couple of days, making an excuse of doing some housework. Suddenly my phone rang and I heard my mother’s voice, strangely tense and hoarse. I knew immediately that something had happened, but the next phrase was something which could not be real. “Your grandpa died”. That moment was the first time I experienced the feeling of a loss which could not be made up for. I could not believe that I would never be able to see him again, to ask for advice, to play a game of chess.
Even now after many years I regret that I had not had breakfast with my Grandpa that day. I realize that I would have not prolonged his life, but I wish I could have talked to him at least once again and let him know how much I loved him.