time

Sometimes, when neither I nor anyone else is paying any particular attention, I see flashes of people as they used to be. It sounds strange, but it’s true. Something in their walk, their smile, the simplicity of an expression without worry, flashes for the smallest of moments, and I see them as they used to be—young, happy, carefree—or, for some, young, ambitious, determined—some hopeful, some sad, some very tired.

It’s happened to me on occasion, but today, in particular, I saw it in my father. He strolled carelessly towards the car from the Krispy Kreme on Highway 17, the same swinging gait and lolling stride I’d seen a hundred times, his brow smooth and blissfully pensive—his mind doubtlessly filled with the peace that the freedom of random thought sometimes invites—and I saw him as he must have been years ago. I saw that he was still the teenage boy who drove his motorcycle through the high school just before graduation, the quiet boy with a laugh that can send a whole room into hysterics. I saw the youth and promise in his face, then the wisdom that grew as he became a father, and fatigue and disappointment in the world and, unwarranted, in himself. I saw contentment with the world as it was, happiness with a sunny Saturday morning and a Krispy Kreme doughnut. I saw all those things at once, but the flash of who he was resonated most with me.

I wanted to cry when I saw it, because in that moment I felt a kind of love for him that is almost too powerful for my body to contain. I loved him for everything he was and everything he had ever been, for the kindness in his eyes and the generosity in his spirit. I loved him for the sound of his voice and the tireless hours he has spent working for me, for my family, so that we may laugh and eat and complain about not having enough. I loved him for the way he walked and even for the way he squinted in the sunlight, and I loved him for every memory of him brushing my long hair before school each morning and purchasing us hotdog-breakfasts from the gas station on the way out to Mrs. Renee’s, our babysitter, in the summertime. I loved him, and I hated that I could never know those parts of him that disappeared as he grew older, into a graceful maturity that I was blessed to have the opportunity to pattern my personality and life after.

Nothing troubles me more in this life than the concept of time and the fact that so much is constantly changing and fading away into memory. It breaks my heart in ways that I cannot now and will not ever be able to put into words.

I saw the flash once in my mother, years ago, on a day when she didn’t have to make the hour commute to work, had no worries, and for once was not tired. I also saw the youthful flash once on my granny’s face, as I strolled through her backyard and spied her sitting at the kitchen table along with her older brother, his wife, and my aunt. She raised herself slightly up from where she sat and grinned widely as she waved at me, and I saw it then. She was sixteen, laughing on the beach, carefree and full of rambunctious life. I saw it there, still in her, and I know she will always be that lady, even if she is now much more.

I know that time exists only for this life, for earthly purposes, and my only solace from its resultant heartbreak stems from my knowledge that in eternity there will be no time. Everyone will once again be everything they ever were, in a good sense, and so much more.

**I wrote this a few weeks ago, but thought I'd post it in honor of Father's Day...I know, I'm late, and I know, it's not all about fathers. But it's my blog and I'll post what I want. :)