I wrote this in 2012:

Shaking my fist at Father Time
As he smiles and passes by
Taking with him comfortable places
Snatching away familiar faces
Which now taunt me as memories and dreams
That will never again be reality
Leaving me cold, wet, and dry

Now I stand on my threshold
Door behind closes, door in front still closed
Trapped in between two lives

Companioned by the awkward silence
Wondering if it remembers me
While waiting, hoping to take my leave
When will this origami box unfold?

Now I see a glimpse of sun
Perhaps my next journey has finally begun
My ticket has at last been called
But first, a door to which I have no key
Looms sturdy and unyielding in front of me
Inspired now only to turn and run

___

It’s not a great poem, but it reminds me this morning of how my perception of time has changed and softened over the years.

Guys, time is a gift we (I) often don’t acknowledge. When things are hard and bleak and impossible, it carries us like a litter through what we would not be able to will ourselves through. It balms and heals and gives perspective. It clears our head, allowing us to wake up in a different state than when we fell asleep. It moves us forward. Imagine if life worked like a video game that you had to beat to advance to the next level. Imagine bumping up against a problem or hardship or hurt you simply could not get yourself past or through and being stuck there forever.

Thank God it doesn’t work that way. Time is a gift.

-LS