Time

 When I was 7, I would go to bed after being tucked in and having a story read, after requesting a drink and getting a goodnight kiss, and cry.

For some reason that year brought with it a terrible realization.

Time. 

Time was not kind. 

Time stops for no one. 

Time changes us all and kills us all and takes us all away from the people we love.

That was not the first time anyone had died in my family.  It was not the first time a pet had died or, for the rude kindness of it all---disappeared.

It was not after the teacher had a class about telling time or after my first watch or after some time bandit TV show.

I did lose an uncle. A Great Uncle or a great-great uncle more specifically.  And he was like a grandfather to me after my grandfather had passed when I was 2.
 I went to the funeral instead of staying at the house with the other little kids for the first time. 
But I think the time obsession started before that.

Time, it was going to kill my dog and make my parents old and eventually die and make me old and eventually die.  It had made every little child that was ever born grow up and get old and die.  Or worse, they had not gotten to grow old.

It had made my father's parents gone long before I was born.

It had filled cemeteries and leveled houses and seen the end of endless animals.

It was relentless.

I cried about buffalo who were then going extinct and about dodo birds.  I cried about lions and tigers and bears.  I cried about the deer and cows and rabbits they ate. 

I cried.

It was all so sad and hopeless.

Eventually I learned to not think about time passing and taking everything with it just before I fell asleep.  Eventually I learned to avoid thinking about time---most of the time.

Then, I learned about geologic time.  And astronomic time.  And Eternity.

But, eventually I learned to see time--not as the enemy but as a gift.  It's what I have.  It's what I get to spend.  And while I don't know when my time ends, I know I have right now.

I do think that I'm recognizing with each passing year that my time is becoming more valuable to me, and more valued.  I don't want to sleep in very often and never till noon.  I don't want to spend too much time on things I hate doing or with people that aren't really my people--unless they are new, then the newness, the discovery time can be fun and educational.  I definitely don't want to just waste time.

But in the general scheme of things, in geologic time or on the space-time continuum, every second I have lived may have been like nothing. I'm not going to become a fossil unless I'm killed in some bizarre situation that prevents my cremation when I die (hopefully at home, in bed, totally unexpectedly).  I have not changed the world in any way that can be seen.  My children or great great great grandchildren may not significantly change the world.

But time, my time, is more important to me than money or souvenirs of life or fancy cars and houses that mark  so many as important.
I can't buy my time.
I can't guarantee my time.
All I can do is try to use every moment to the best of my ability--not just for productivity.  We humans might just be more productive than was ever good for the world.
Not for the betterment of the world or for mankind or for the glory of god, but because, when I got here, a squalling, naked girl child, all I had was time.  An unknown amount of hard to describe stuff that can not be given to anyone else, cannot be sold in a way that gives another more, and even in the wasting--can be enjoyed.
Now, I'm going to go have a day. Hopefully, we will all have one and enjoy every loud or quiet, long or rapid, soft or energetic moment.