I met him in early 2023.
He was a supervisor on a new project I had just joined. Big job. A lot of pressure.
He was a serious man. No smile. Always quiet. Smoked a lot. No jokes. Just what needed to be done. Procedures. Warnings. What could go wrong.
He ran the pre-starts like that too. Didn’t say much. Didn’t share much. Not even with people who had known him for years.
That was him.
Months later, I came back to work. Two weeks after my wife’s funeral.
Same project. Same place. Signed on. Paperwork. Briefing.
He was there. He ran the pre-start like he always did.
I didn’t say much. Just a quick hello. He nodded.
That was it.
After the briefing, I headed towards the car park. As I walked away from the crib room, I heard someone call my name.
“Clem. Clem.”
I turned around. It was him.
He walked up to me and said,
“Hey mate, I just wanted to give you a hug.”
And he hugged me.
I froze.
Didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. I thanked him, but I was still stiff. Caught off guard.
“I know it’s been hard,” he said.
Then he looked at me and said,
“Smell the roses. That’s all I can say. Smell the roses.”
I got into the car and had to Google what it meant.
I didn’t get it.
Later, I learned more about him. He had beaten cancer. In his sixties. In remission for years.
When he hugged me, I felt something I hadn’t noticed before.
Not from him.
From the moment.
Gratitude.
And I hadn’t been living like someone who had it.
After that, we worked together for some two years. He was different with me.
Opened up. Smiled. Asked about my life. Shared parts of his. A side of him I hadn’t seen before.
You never really know what someone’s carrying.
The seriousness. The silence. The way they keep to themselves.
Sometimes it’s not who they are. Just what they’ve been through.
And sometimes… all it takes is a hug.
And you remember.
Smell the roses.