Gliding Along

People say time marches on but it doesn't.   

Watch an old documentary of soldiers marching in rhythm and you'll see; the passage of time is nothing like a march.  It never moves in rhythm with anything like we wish it would and it seems no mater who marches beside you, some terrain is just to difficult to traverse on foot.  No, time does not march.  It is much to graceful for that.

Time glides like a small boat over a calm lake, leaving ripples in its wake that reverberate into eternity.  No shoreline sits to break the pattern.  They roll on endlessly, days becoming weeks as the ripples turn to waves--years all rolled up together, searching for some place to rest.  And that is life, no matter what anyone says.  All your moments and memories, good years and bad, losses and gains they make ripples through time while you, in your own little boat glide over a glassy lake in search of your destination.

I know it feels more like a troubled sea sometimes, even more so while you're trying to command your tiny ship.  A crew would sure be nice, but most of us to some extent prefer to float in our own vessel; alongside another is the best any of us can really do.

Stillness never comes easy. Lately I observe more than I act.  I see solitary souls so uneasy with their own company they rarely spend an entire day at home.  I remember a time when I felt so restless--that stillness might swallow me up, make my heart race, cause me to linger on unlovely thoughts.  I thought stillness threatened my peace of mind and happiness so I ran from it by staying busy.  

I watch as ladies who cannot keep their seats find things to sweep up or wipe away.  I watch them search for plants to water or bins of craft supplies to tidy.  There is simply no place for sitting down with a cup of coffee for a leisurely chat with a friend.  I watch as men fiddle with their phones and listen as they talk about all the important things they need to do.  I see them scrambling to make plans with someone--anyone, so they can rest assured their time is filled with the presence of another.

One talks to me of misery.  Saturday greets him with an empty living room, no one to make his breakfast or give him an agenda for the day.  He putters around, searching for purpose in an old shed filled with the clutter of a lifetime spent with someone who no longer shares his world.  He hopes to find her there I think, in bits and pieces of the things she kept and treasured and probably forgot about.  Some of those things, he gives away saying, "Now if you don't need this you can just donate it somewhere."  Other stuff gets tossed out.  A few things, like the tiny blown-glass angel she loved, get a special place in his world.  He tries to hold onto her and to erase her at once; a battle that seems to feed his only sense of reason.  She died three years ago this January.  Time glides on.

I don't know for sure, but I've been told in this way or another that one could drown in the wake of time.  They say my grandmother got smothered by it after the death of my grandfather.  He died in the Fall, she died the following Spring.  "She grieved herself to death." I heard people say all my life.  Whether it was true I'll never know, but I grew up orphaned of grandparents because time took them before my tiny vessel ever got set afloat.  

My parents created unique patterns on the surface of time as their lives came together and then drifted apart again.  Over six decades of shared trials, joy and tears, frustration and triumph.  They clashed at times, sustained one another at others.  The bond between them grew stronger with every ripple, every wave, every day spent gliding along together.  My dad perhaps got swallowed up in my mother's wake when she finally got too tired of rowing against the current and pulled her vessel out of the water.  Without her beside him, the waves grew too high, the grief too deep, the loss so profound that nothing could reach him anymore.  

I visited him at Christmas time and put up the tree.  I knew my Mama would have wanted it so, but my Dad, he didn't care.  

"See how pretty it is?" I asked him after I plugged in the lights. "Granny would want you to have the tree up." I reminded him.

"I'd rather have my wife back." He answered dryly, not taking his eyes off the TV.

I wanted to make it easier for him but I felt so powerless.  No one, nothing could take away the sting of loss for him.  It withered him from inside out until on his own deathbed, he sat with a picture of my mother in his hand, staring down at it as if trying to burn her face into his mind.  Who knows what memories he lingered upon in those last few days?  I doubt if he held onto bickering and disagreements.  Big tears rolled down his cheeks sometimes, I never could tell if from joy or sorrow but I suspect a little of both.

That's the thing, you see.  No matter what you're doing right now, no matter what your struggles or losses or gains, time hasn't stopped.  You continue to glide along, losing track of where you are and why until someday you sit looking at a photograph from years ago, wondering where all the days and years went.  You won't sit bothered about the money you owe or that car that never ran very well.  At some point it just can't matter anymore how many times you forgot to buy bread on the way home, or lost your keys or ate a too-large piece of cake.  

It all makes me think that the real meaning of this life never comes clearly into focus until we start to near the end of it.  Youth believes it will never grow old and age envies not having savored more of their time.  Time never leaves us behind, it carries us along from one moment to the next, transporting us so smoothly that we often can't tell we're moving at all.  It takes you along with it whether you're ready or not and offers no mercy to those who yearn to always look back, rather than preparing themselves for what lies ahead.  It brings the future swirling at us from far away, threatening, foreboding, we get our eyes set too far ahead, the fear of being sucked into some vortex of catastrophe overwhelming us in the here and now, so every moment between you and tomorrow gets tossed overboard; worthless, extra weight is how we see it, but really it's the only thing of worth we have.

I'm not old just yet and I may never make it there.  This coming year in July I will celebrate 5 years on dialysis.  Five years ago doctors were telling me, "This should work well for you for at least 5 years."  Sometimes I compare myself to other people my age.  I am flummoxed when I watch them handle life so deftly.  The daily chores, homework, picking up the kids from school, taking them to practices.  Cooking actual healthy food, finding clothes to wear every day that fit comfortably and make them feel good.  I'm amazed that people go out to dinner on Tuesday nights and still get up for work on Wednesday.  I know my body restricts me but I fight it hard.  

I fight to keep my little boat afloat, armed with a little machine and countless boxes of fluids and endless trips to get blood work drawn.  I row my damn little boat over to the clinic once a month where I get graded on how I'm living my life.  I leave there, usually feeling as though I'm failing, but I'm still alive, so that's something, right?  Ever since July 2013 I started working hard to keep my mind and spirit securely planted in the moment.  Sure, sudden shakeups happen and I let my mind race too far ahead or let myself reach to far back int he past; to waves that continue to roll somewhere out there in the vast continuum of time perhaps changing someone else's world, or perhaps just losing momentum as they search for a distant shore.

Thing is, none of us can afford to nap at the helm because whether or not we pay attention, current still drags us along.  It will not let us row backwards to fix the past or skip some unpleasant swampy, scary place to get to a brighter future.  It's a ride that's meant to be savored;; enjoyed for all the ups and downs and twists and curves it brings us around.

We are meant to enjoy the ride--no matter how hard it sometimes gets in that tiny vessel all alone; because right beside you there is someone floating along the same placid lake, afraid that at any moment, their boat will capsize and everything they love will just float away.  Fear makes us do some stupid things--like standing up in a moving canoe.  Trust me, it's better to just sit still and paddle if you must, but never attempt to jump ship.

Eventually we all reach our destinations.  I pray you and I reach ours while there's still time left to glide along into the sunset of that calm, welcoming horizon where the sun dips down into the lake and warmth waits to wrap us in a forever Today, where worries and cares of yesterday and tomorrow can never again plague us or divert us from our path.

Good night my friends, and happy floating, both in your dreams and in your days ahead.