That Which Can Happen In 4 Years

Time keeps on slipping into the future.  Steve Miller really summed it up in that sentence.  Sand through the hourglass, clouds in the wind, the earth spinning on its axis.  Time's lack of interest in our desire for it to slow down or speed up is abundantly clear.  And so passes four years, in the blink of an eye and at the pace of sap sliding from a tree, all at once. 

In the last 4 years, I have watched my 2 year old turn into a 1st grader with certain deficits for which we are seeking guidance and help.  I feel my second son grow in my womb and emerge a firecracker of spunk and sweetness.  My beloved dog, Leo, loses his battle of kidney failure, and then we acquire 3 new dogs (one each year since he passed) who for the most part drive me nuts.  I metamorphosis from an insecure impostor to a confident businesswoman.  I see friendships built in the most dire of circumstances, that then crumble in calm waters.  And then new friendships are built again.  I hear hypocrisy from people I hold dear, and then learn to feel empathy for them and their lack of repentance, for I too once was too stubborn to admit my mistakes.  My faith in God has time to stagger and then flourish once again.

Over the weekend a very, very large tortoise heaved it's heavy body up my driveway.  I cannot imagine where it came from, how long he has been slowly but steadily running the race, or why it turned up my driveway from our relatively busy street.  It was so shocking and beautiful.  I carried it to my neighbor's house where the girls live who spotted the big guy while riding their bikes past our place.  They are sweet girls well-versed in caring for animals (they let their goats out of their pen and put the tortoise in so he could feel secure for a moment or two).  They have put signs up all over the neighborhood looking for his rightful owner, as any responsible person would do.  But I have found I cannot stop thinking about the tortoise.  Maybe he wasn't lost at all.  Maybe he was a gift from God sent to show me that time can appear to slow down if I stay present in the moment.  Sending my mind out on an exploratory expedition into the weeks and months to come causes me nothing but worry and stress.  Finding the peace and harmony in an experience, no matter how odd or difficult or fulfilling it might be, has given rise to my understanding that one cannot deny their emotions for the fear of being uncomfortable.  How would we know what "good" is if we had nothing to compare it too?

My dad died 4 years ago today.  He was 57.  As this anniversary hits and the lump in my throat seems to grab my vocal cords like a vice, I am ok with the fact that the emotions I feel today are stronger than the ones that came on the previous anniversaries.  He is really gone and he has already missed so much.  If I live to be 90 years old, I will have seen his face but for 30 years of my life.  And I do wonder for what period of time his face, and voice, and laugh will stay fresh in my mind.  After all, time remains an unbridled strength pulling us forward and away from each moment we live.

On my drive in to work today, I was deep in thought and staring at the tail of the semi truck in front of me.  I wasn't looking to left at the glassy ocean or the right at the peaceful lagoon, just straight ahead.  Then for one second I glanced at the car passing me in the next lane.  Its license plate read "Call Dan".  I wish I could, in the physical sense.  But I still can in the spiritual sense and again, I think it was a reminder sent to me that time doesn't have to take him away.  The paradigm that we can remain frozen in memory and progressive in life, is the gift of time. 

I miss him, we all miss him, and we will continue to move forward into our respective futures in his honor.  I love you, Dad.