On the first day of college, our professor introduced himself and gave us a simple but powerful assignment: find and talk to someone you didn’t already know. I stood up and glanced around, unsure where to start, when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder.
Turning around, I was met with the warmest smile I’d ever seen — it belonged to a petite elderly woman whose eyes sparkled with joy.
“Hi there, handsome,” she said playfully. “My name’s Rose. I’m eighty-seven years young. Mind if I give you a hug?”
I chuckled and replied, “Of course not!” She wrapped me in a hug that felt like pure sunshine.
I asked her, “So what brings you to college at such a young and innocent age?”
She grinned and joked, “I’m here to catch myself a wealthy husband, tie the knot, and maybe start a family!”
I laughed, but followed up more seriously, “No, really—what inspired you to enroll?”
Her smile softened. “I’ve always dreamed of going to college. Life just had other plans. But now I’m finally doing it.”
After class, we strolled to the student center and split a chocolate milkshake. That was the beginning of a friendship that grew stronger every day. For the next three months, we’d walk and talk after class, and I’d sit captivated as she shared her stories, insights, and a perspective shaped by decades of living.
Over the course of the school year, Rose became a beloved figure on campus. She was adored by students and faculty alike. She loved to dress up, and she basked in the affection and attention from everyone around her. She truly came alive, embracing college life in full.
When our football team held its end-of-season banquet, Rose was invited as our guest speaker. I’ll never forget her speech—or what happened before it.
As she walked to the podium, she accidentally dropped her note cards. After a flustered moment, she leaned into the microphone and, with perfect comedic timing, said, “I’m sorry—I gave up beer for Lent, and this whiskey isn’t helping!” The room erupted in laughter.
Then she grew serious and said, “I may have lost my speech, but I’ll just speak from the heart.”
She continued:
“We don’t stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing.
There are four secrets to staying young, being happy, and finding success:
Laugh every day. Find something to smile about.
Hold on to your dreams. The day you let go of them is the day you begin to fade.
There’s a world of difference between aging and growing up.
You can lie in bed for a year doing nothing, and you’ll still turn another year older. But to grow up—truly grow—you have to embrace change and chase new chances.”
She paused, then added, “Regret doesn’t usually come from what we did. It comes from what we didn’t do. The only people afraid to die are those who are still holding on to regrets.”
Then she sang The Rose — right there in front of everyone, voice quivering but brave.
She ended by asking us to really listen to the lyrics and try to live by them.
At the end of that academic year, Rose proudly completed the degree she had begun so many years before. Just one week after graduation, she passed away peacefully in her sleep.
Over 2,000 students showed up to her funeral, each one touched in some way by her presence, her courage, and her wisdom. Rose had shown us through her actions that it’s never too late to become who you were meant to be.
So, if you’ve read this far, take a moment to share Rose’s message with someone. Her life was a reminder of this simple truth:
Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.
And as Winston Churchill once said, “We make a living by what we get. We make a life by what we give.”
— In memory of Rose