Time is a bitch isn’t she? So sneaky and underhanded, making you think there is so much of her and then changing tack half way and deciding that there isn’t enough of her to go around. When I was out jogging the other day I had one of those feeling memories, you know the ones? The ones that suddenly hit you and take you back to another time and place, another you?
I was jogging through what we call “the track” which runs from just near our house across about 6 blocks until I reach a main road again, so basically, other than crossing the back streets as I come out from each section, I am running on a dirt track full of trees. It was a grey drizzle day, but warm. And suddenly I was 6 years old, sitting in the big concrete tunnels we had piled on top of each other in the school playground in Port Augusta, where I lived from 3 – 9 years of age. I remember it was one of those warm, stormy days we used to get all the time and I must have had canteen money as I was eating twisties or something like that, which was a real treat for me. Our family did not really do junk food, even before I got type 1 diabetes and in those days, there was far less of it in any case. In that moment, for whatever reasons, maybe the grey weather which I have always loved, maybe the treat, my best friends, or something that had just happened or I was anticipating, I was deliriously happy. This feeling memory often pops up for me on these grey, warm, drizzly days and it offers me a peek into the continuity of my timeline, of my life.
As I continued on my run this faded, and I became very mindful, focused and engaged on the act of running, staying with the pace and breathing rhythm (one of the reasons I love to run), or enjoying the beautiful Adelaide foothills surrounds, taking it all in. Time in this part of the run was very much about being in the moment, the very current part of my timeline. Then, I reached the Morialta Park where I stop and carry out an exercise circuit, knocked it out of the park, and went on my way for the final part of the run.
As I climbed the steep hill out of the park back up to the track, a song came on my music player which always grabs my heart – “A thousand Years” by Christina Perri. Now I am not a Twilight fan or follower, I don’t even know where I first heard this song (probably television), but there is something in the piano, the sweet sorrow of the tone, her breathy soft beautiful voice full of angst and desire and want and loss and love, and the words, the words which are not at all about what reaches out to me, yet still do. They all resonate with my heartaches and loves and journey and so many aspects of my life. And suddenly, suddenly I was taken to a place in time which I have both been and am coming to soon – the first year anniversary of the death my dear friend Denice, who passed away at the end of May last year. I know the exact time and day. I wrote a poem. It still hurts and I am anticipating this day.
Suddenly, I was in a timeline of my life with Denice. Our first meeting, our growing friendship, our love. Our children’s bond. Her cancer, her determination, her strength, her love. Foot spas and giggles and girl’s weekends and Christmas concerts. I was sitting with her, holding her, consoling her, being consoled. Learning and teaching and loving and growing.
And then she was gone. She was not in my timeline anymore. She had no timeline of her own. She just wasn’t. Tears began to fall as I ran.
And it hurts. You know that pain if you are human and you have loved.
“I have died every day waiting for you. Darling don’t be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years. I will love you for a thousand more.”
Time hey. She can be a bitch. Grab as much of her as you can and make the most of it