Time fascinates me.
Today is Oct. 7, 2015. As I sit on my couch, surrounded by
two Golden Retrievers and four (indoor) cats, I reflect on last year … when I had two Golden Retrievers and three cats. I note the sadness I feel
today, yet also the hopefulness and peacefulness.
I think about the fact that my mother’s birthday is Oct. 7,
1945. On that day 70 years ago, a
feisty, intelligent, ornery, sweet and caring child named Nicki blessed the earth. I’m certain that time brought the family
great happiness.
And I would be willing to bet the moon that my 23-year-old mom
felt pretty miserable on Oct. 7, 1968 — just five days before I would grace the
world with my presence. If you’ve ever been pregnant, you know how
those last days feel.
For my mother’s birthday last year, my sister Kim and I took
Mom to Dillard’s to buy her some new shoes. The three of us probably experienced every
emotion known to mankind that day.
Our mother had suffered a small-scale stroke just a
year-and-a-half before, and, my, how times changed after that! After two months
of rehabilitation, Mom was just about normal. She functioned well enough, but
she walked more slowly and off-balance, processed information more slowly,
forgot things easily and experienced left side neglect. She simply forgot
she had a left side to use, and her left hand often found itself in her
spaghetti plate at The Olive Garden.
Mom also stressed out more easily after the stroke, which I
never believed could be possible.
So in Dillard’s that day, my mother and her shoe selections
took up one-third of the department. Boxes scattered all around us, with some
shoes matching and others not. Mom would be in the middle of trying on one shoe
and get interested in another. And soon she would forget the shoes she had
already tried on and want to try them on again. We helped Mom try on shoe after
shoe after shoe to finally make a decision on one pair. We felt badly enough
for the salesperson that we told her our mom had suffered a stroke, which
caused her to make relatively simple tasks quite difficult.
My mom didn’t like it any better than we did. She felt
self-conscious, anxious and exhausted when finished. Kim and I worried that we
way overdid things for Mom that day.
Still, it was a good day! We had been together, and my mom
had been able to get out for a little while.
So, yes, time fascinates me with all of its changes and
complexities, and how, at the same point at any given time, a person can
experience a dichotomous range and fluctuation of emotions.
I have often suggested to people going
through difficult times to imagine themselves one year from now. What do you
think that year will look like? What do you think you will be feeling? Will
what you are experiencing right now even matter that much at this time next
year?
The proposition certainly gives one something to ponder.
With time being an ever-changing, never-ending process, one can’t realistically
conclude she will be feeling exactly the same load of misery (or even happiness) in a year that
she’s feeling right now.
If someone had told me last year that one year from now my mom would no longer be with us due to more strokes, I wouldn't have believed it. And if someone had also suggested that neither of my parents would be here, I would have been unable to function for the rest of the year.
What I most understand about time right now is that it only exists in this moment. I have one minute out of 60. I have one hour out of 24. That's it. They might all be strung together to make longer periods of time, but I don't know that.
I don't know about tomorrow, and I don't need to know about tomorrow. I only need to put one foot in front of the other and do the best I can to make a positive difference in my small world — one second at a time, one minute at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time.
That's it. That's my time. That's doable.
