Time Is A Gift

"What time is it?"  It's the first thought that comes to mind every morning.  Time is ever present. From the moment of our birth - measured in the hours of labour our mothers endured, and exact hour and minute of our arrival - 'til the hour of our death, time is right there walking alongside us, beckoning, hovering, carrying us away. 

I was listening to an "old" Ed Sheeran song, Thinking Out Loud, "darlin' I will be loving you 'til we're seventy".  I heard myself think out loud and laugh, "that far off, huh".  There was a time when seventy was a long way off.  Now that I am, as I tell everyone, Sweet 16... and dyslexic, seventy is just around the corner.

When I was five, there was a ponytailed girl visiting her grandparents up the lane.  I was fascinated by her.  She was thirteen!  I thought she was so sophisticated and grown up, reading magazines while laying on her stomach on the balcony, kicking one poised foot overhead.  I could hardly wait, until the day that I too would be a real teenager!  Time was beckoning me to hurry.

While I don't wish to go back that far, there are days when I would love to turn the clock back a few decades, giving me more time here on earth.  

  

Time is measureable, however, it exists on another immeasurable plane.  Major events in the distant past,  may feel as though they just happened yesterday.  Emotional memory is strong.  Details may be fog shrouded, and ancient history.  Time is fluid that way.

As a child - when a day would last forever - time was a concept that eluded me.  When my grandfather's health was beginning to fade, he and Dad went on a fishing trip to Vancouver Island.  I endlessly asked my grandmother, "when's Daddy coming home?"  We were in her back garden, when she pointed to their huge cherry tree.  "When the cherries turn dark red, they'll be home".  I was blessed to have a father who took time for the people in his life.  He died when I was 17.

It's been almost three and a half years since my husband died.  One of the first conversations we ever had, was about time:  the most precious commodity, a non-renewable resource.  He always had time for me.  The time he took every day to listen, and talk strengthened us.  Even when we lived in two separate cities, in two different provinces, he would phone every day...for three years!  If a friend or family member had a problem, he would spend hours with them, talking late into the night, helping them find clarity.  His gift to each of us, was his time.

For friends on transplant waiting lists, watching as their health pours through a metaphoric hourglass, or friends diagnosed with terminal illness, more time truly is a gift.  Each day of life is honoured. 

With age comes wisdom, and the knowledge that time is more valuable than gold.  As we grow older, the awareness that we don't have much time left on this earth, becomes less abstract, and more of a reality.  Both the quantity and quality of experiences and conversations with loved ones become all important.  Ever notice how much living retired people cram into a week?  Ever notice that many have given themselves permission to say "no thanks" to something they just don't want to spend time doing?  It's freeing.

Take time to smell the flowers!  It's more than an expression - it's a way of living, of being present in this gift of life.



Photographs Copyright of:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incoporated.