Deadline? I Thought You Said Lifeline

I didn’t write much this week.

Right now, I’m sitting at the hospital with my great aunt.

She’s receiving end-of-life care after a sudden stroke on Saturday.

She’s still holding on but it’s hard. And quiet. And I wanted to write this issue in memory of her.

Just last Monday- literally while I was finishing the last issue- we spoke.

She called to wish my son a happy birthday.

We chatted about the newsletter. About life.

And now, one week later, I’m writing this beside her hospital bed, trying to hold onto time that suddenly feels too fragile.

I found a card she meant to send my son.

It wasn’t filled out but she had bought it.

And somehow, that small gesture hit me harder than anything else.

It reminded me that deadlines aren’t always about tasks.

Some of them are about people.

About love.

About time you don’t realize is precious until it’s already slipping.

In dev life especially with an ADHD brain we survive on pressure.

We wait for the last minute to kick in.

But life doesn’t always give you that final push.

Some moments don’t come with a warning. You just have to be there.

My aunt used to say something to me, ever since I was a kid:

That’s been echoing in my brain this weekend.

Because nothing’s felt better in the morning - just different.

I’ve always needed pressure to get started.

A countdown. A blinking red timer. That sense of urgency.

That’s how I trick my ADHD brain into focus.

It works for code. For bug fixes. For writing.

But the things that matter most?

They often show up quietly.

No push notification. No Jira ticket. No Slack ping that says:

And when I look at my work this week my real work it wasn’t shipping code.

It was showing up.

Being present. Letting myself feel broken and human, instead of useful and productive.

My great aunt lived most of her life alone.

But years ago, I made her a promise:

And I was.

I got the call:

She’d had a stroke.

She might not make it.

They were doing everything they could.

So I got in the car.

Three hours on the road that felt like a hundred.

I was calm, supported, and focused - not by panic, but by love.

I knew she was stubborn.

I told myself, she has to wait for me.

And she did.

I got to A&E.

I held her hand.

I was there when the hard news came.

When they said this would be the end - but that it could be peaceful.

And I agreed.

And now, as I write this - just hours before this issue goes out - I still don’t know the exact moment it’ll happen.

Well… I do. I just don’t know when.

But what I do know, hand on heart, is that I kept my promise.

She knows I was here.

And I got to say goodbye, that i love her and thank her for all the wonderful things she has taught me and just been there for me.

All the joyful moments in my childhood.

That brings me peace.

It’s easy to feel guilt in moments like this.

"Why didn’t I call more?"

"Why did I say ‘tomorrow’?"

"Why did I think there would always be time?"

But sometimes, showing up now is enough.

Even if you missed the other moments.

Even if the todo list is untouched.

Even if your brain feels like a mess from the emotional whiplash of it all.

Right now, there’s no hyperfocus.

No last-minute productivity surge.

Just stillness. Exhaustion. A bit of peace.

And the quiet reminder that it’s okay to just be human.

A few hours of sleep. A deep breath. One quiet "I'm here."

That’s enough.

Some things are more important than deadlines.

Some people are.

If you’re reading this and someone comes to mind

• Send the message.
• Write the card.
• Walk away from the build, just for a moment.

They might not say it.

But they’ll remember.

Because I know I will.

And before I sign off - I want to thank the people who made it possible for me to be here:

My wife. My son. My mum.

Their support held me up when I couldn’t hold anything else.

So if you’ve been through something like this: I see you. I understand it now.

And if you haven’t - remember this:

This week, I didn’t meet my deadline.

And I’m okay with that.

Because I was reminded what deadlines are really for:

Making time count.

Not just in commits or checkboxes—but in conversations, in presence, in love.

And I want to say this clearly:

Whether your brain thrives under pressure or crashes from it—

Whether you forget things or remember everything too much—

Whether you show up last minute or sit quietly beside someone when it counts—

You’re human. We all are.

And when life hits hard, it’s okay to fall apart a little.

It’s okay to not finish the sprint.

It’s okay to feel like a mess.

Grief doesn’t care how your brain is wired.

But neither does love.

And showing up—however you can—is always enough.

So today, let the deadline wait.

Send the message.

Say what matters.

Step away if you need to.

Because you’re not behind.

You’re here.

And sometimes, that’s everything.

See you next Tuesday,

Simen (grateful, grounded, and holding space)

Zap (That even paused this week. Deadlines can wait. People can’t.)

🪽 For my auntie Tove

You always told me to sleep on it.

So I did.

And you were right.

There’s peace now.

And though it hurts - I got to say goodbye.

I’ll miss you.

And this issue... this one is for you.