We assume we’ll always have time and that our health will hold up. That our loved ones will be there for every birthday, every silly joke, every Sunday lunch.
That we’re somehow immune to tragedy because we’re careful, kind, or just plain lucky.
But here’s the truth—life doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t send you a “heads up.”
It doesn’t ask for your permission before flipping the script.
And when it does, you don’t just lose someone; you lose the version of yourself that existed with them.
That’s what happened to Prathap Suthan.
A Fever. A Test. And Then, A Storm.
One evening, his wife Jyothi had a fever.
It lingered for five days. Nothing unusual. People fall sick; they recover.
Her physician requested a blood test to rule out any unusual conditions. A few hours later, the results landed: Acute leukaemia.
In just 120 days, Jyothi was gone.
Four months earlier, they were a perfectly healthy family. Making plans. Sharing meals. Living and loving life.
And then—nothing.
Except for memories. And a silence so heavy it echoes through every room.
Through every line, you can feel how deeply he loves her. And, heartbreakingly, how deeply he regrets not showing it enough. He thought he had time.
Don’t we all?
Prathap has turned his pain into pages. His book (to be officially released) is part love letter, part grief diary.
The first part tells the story of Jyothi, the woman—a force, a fighter, someone he calls a battleship.
The second part holds the emptiness of a life without her. The kind of void you don’t just “move on” from.
The Regret That Pains
What hurts Prathap the most isn’t just the loss. It’s what he didn’t do when she was around.
- He didn’t say I love you often enough.
- He didn’t show how much she meant to him, though she meant everything.
- He didn’t spend that extra hour, cancel that pointless meeting, or take that spontaneous trip.
And now, 18 months later, every single day he’s haunted by those choices.
Grief is his new language. Writing about her is his therapy, his release, and his penance.
You might be reading this and thinking, “That’s awful, but it won’t happen to me.”
But what if it does?
What if the person you love most is here today… and gone next season?
Would you be ready?
Prathap’s biggest regret isn’t just personal. It’s universal.
“As a couple,” he writes, “we never prepared for each other’s exit. In hindsight, however painful the thought, I realise everyone should. Should anything happen.”
It sounds morbid. But it’s not.
It’s mature. It’s loving. It’s real.
What You Can Do
Don’t wait for fate to teach you the hard way. Start now.
Here’s what matters:
- Be present. Not just physically. Be emotionally available.
- Say it. Please don’t assume they know how much they mean to you. Tell them. Again and again.
- Please do it now. That trip, that date, that idea you’ve been putting off. Don’t postpone joy.
- Plan the uncomfortable. Discuss wills, insurance, and digital access. Preparing for the worst isn’t pessimistic—it’s responsible.
One Thunderstorm Away
Prathap’s story isn’t just about loss. It’s about the illusion of time.
We live like we’ll get to everything tomorrow. But life doesn’t wait for our to-do lists to clear.
Hear it from him:
"A single thunderstorm can roll in and take everything away. Life is as unpredictable as the weather, and you never know when it will turn. Don't wait."
So, love loud. Live fully. And prepare—not out of fear, but out of care.
Let this story be the nudge you didn’t know you needed.
Don’t wait.
About Me
I am a thinker at all times. I see, I think. I hear, I think. I read, I think. Every weekend I write. I would love to know what you think.