Time. Stands. Still.
Whatever had been, whatever will be, has been consumed in the pulsing throb of now. One day I know I will talk and laugh without this heaviness. One day I will again plan vacations, watch movies, shop at Gap.com. These things hold no interest to me now. Each meal I eat, each book I read, each joke I share is a little flat, a little sad for this knowledge that has changed our lives forever. My breaths are prayers, my laughs are cries for help, my time seems wasted if it's not with him, for him somehow.
I have spent my life living in the past or future, either caught up in regret and wistfulness or stretching hopefully toward greener grass. But my rooting has now come, on the occasion I would choose both to forget and to fast forward. And while I sit—an hour, a week, a hundred years goes by.
Seven days ago I saw ahead a difficult but likely order of events. The truth has stopped me in my tracks. It has prioritized the detail of my life. It has put in stark relief the true and the superfluous, the solemn and silly. I see now that I saw only darkly.
I say I know, say I believe, but have I ever really? Have I ever let the knowing change me now? I have made promises, but does love—fully present, fully alive—touch the people I brush up against each day? It seems that I have always let the past and future nudge away now's opportunity. It seems I had forgotten, or perhaps never really known, that today is all I have, now is the only time.
I know this too shall pass. God willing, I will buy groceries, pay the bills, cook supper once again. I know the times will change ... I hope that I do not.