Time

Time. It's how we measure our days and our lives. The seconds tick by and we barely notice it's passage. We barely notice the years fly past us. Nothing lasts.  Everything changes. All living things eventually die. Time. It runs out for everyone. We all have our own internal clocks, tick, tick, ticking in our ears. We get so used to the sound that we forget to appreciate the moments; we forget that our time here doesn't last forever.

 In a blink of an eye my premature son is almost three years old. My 17 month old daughter is sleeping through the night and my newborn baby is over a month old. And it's because of him; because of this little baby whose barely had a chance to live, that the tick, tick, ticking of time has become noticeable again. His life, as short as it has been, has made me appreciate the little moments a little more.

And I'm sure all of you out there are saying "thank god it's not me"..."Thank god it's not my baby". Sure. Why wouldn't you? I've done it. Being relieved that it was another person's cross to bear when some horror befell my neighbour, or the person on the news, or the friend of a friend, is normal, and understandable.  It could never happen to me... Logically we know it's possible that misfortune could visit our doorstep... but deep down, in our guts, we never believe it could truly, ever happen...to us.  And then suddenly - suddenly it does. And now my life is the one people pity, and shake their heads at, and think "thank God, it's not me". And this story I thought my life could never become is being written out before me at an alarming rate.

Time is moving much too fast now. I'm painfully aware of the clock. The one that counts down the seconds we spend here on this earth. I'm aware of it because I can see it over my son's head. I can't see how long his clock is wound for, but the ticking is so excruciatingly loud. It invades my deepest sleep. Tick. Tick. TICK.

 It's true. My son's heart is sick, and his clock is ticking in my ears, but at least I'm aware of it. I no longer have the luxury of forgetting that we all have a time limit here. All. Of. Us. And who knows...my heart sick son's clock may run ramshod over yours. My husband may attend your crash scene tomorrow, or you might have an insidious disease waiting to be discovered next week. Your clock may be running down as you read this... But you don't believe that do you...because it could never happen to you...

Time. It's our greatest gift and our worst enemy.