Whoa, where did the time go? This is a question I often ask myself when I’m reflecting on the past or when I am doing something I really enjoy.
Doesn’t it seem like “time” will always be there?
· We know they’ll be another day of sunshine. Another tomorrow will come so we can start over again.
· Next week we’ll begin with the new plan.
· Next year will be our best one yet.
· We’ll do it then.
Until there isn’t time.
Until you are the family saying to me “I thought we’d have more time”. Or “We never talked about these things because we thought we’d have more time”.
There’s a song called Time by Pink Floyd with a lyric “Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time. Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines. Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way. The time is gone, the song is over, thought I’d something more to say.”
That line “hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way” resonates with me strongly. Quiet desperation.
I’ve watched family members around the bed of a dying patient in quiet desperation, watching the monitor, tracking the heartbeat, the blood pressure, then the respiratory rate, scanning the oxygen number, waiting, as time slows to a standstill for them. Or anxiously fretting in the waiting room for someone to come out and give them an update because it seems like an eternity has passed.
Time keeps on ticking, like our heartbeats, until one of them stops.
Set a date with me to complete your directives. Let’s figure out how you want to live your life before you take your last breaths, while you have the ability to communicate, while you have people around you with which to share your wishes, while the thoughts of your own death are so far away, and while you have the time.
“You may delay, but time will not.” – Benjamin Franklin