An Open Letter To Time

Dear Time,

I recently attended my five-year-old daughter’s school holiday program that was held in her kindergarten classroom. As she stood in the front of the room wearing her painted t-shirt with misshapen handprints and a crinkly-eyed smile, I was overcome by the most unsettling feeling.

I could have sworn I was sitting in that same pint-sized chair watching her older sister sing the same adorable medley of tunes just yesterday. Yesterday.

But that was three years ago.

Time, you seem to get away from me.

So tonight I went upstairs to watch my daughters sleep. I’ll be honest; I hadn’t done that in awhile.

As I opened the door to my younger daughter’s room, I took a deep breath; I had a feeling this was going to hurt. But nothing could have prepared my heart for what I was about to experience.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkened room, the sight of my sleeping “baby” in her bed startled me. When did her legs make such a long, horizontal lump, coming frighteningly close to the end of the bed? I quietly stepped closer and peered at her peacefully clasped hands. When did her knuckles lose their precious chubby indentations? Where there used to be pillows of scrumptious skin, I could now see boney little knobs.

No, no, no.

I quickly covered my mouth so that my inevitable sob would not slip out and wake her. Time, you seem to get away from me. Although my heart didn’t want to go there, my eyes tentatively came to rest upon her lovely face. When I realized that somewhere in the past few months the perfectly round shape of her head had begun to elongate into an adult-like oval, I lost it.

Damn you, Time. Damn you. Damn you.

Tonight I just wanted to grab you, Time. Tackle you. Pin you down and stop you from going forward at lightning pace. Believe me, I can just see you rolling your eyes; I know what you’re thinking. I don’t respect you like I should … always criticizing you … ordering you to “hurry up” … whining when I have to wait, even if it’s just for mere seconds.

Rarely do I simply enjoy you. Rarely am I satisfied with you. Rarely, if ever, do I cherish and appreciate you. You are so right.

But here’s the problem, Time. I’ve got things to do, and I’m afraid you’re going to run out on me. You’re probably thinking I just want more time to complete my never-ending to-do list, more time to complete unimportant tasks that won’t matter twenty years from now. Because that is how I lived for so long.

But no, that is not why I need more of you, Time. You see, something happened as I watched my precious child sleep tonight. When I got down on my knees and leaned close enough to feel her warm, rhythmic breath on my face, I could see clearly what I need more time to do. And this is the best way I know how to describe it:

There’s a spot on her face I have yet to kiss.

There’s a freckle on her nose I have yet to count.

There’s a place on her back I have yet to scratch.

There’s a scent in her hair I have yet to inhale.

There’s a place on her belly I have yet to rub.

There’s a laugh in her chest I have yet to hear.

There’s a joyful expression on her face I have yet to see.

There’s a dream in her heart I have yet to believe.

There’s a song in her throat I have yet to hear.

There’s a word of love I have yet to say.

There’s an apology I have yet to give.

There’s an embrace I have yet to deliver.

And so I need more time. For I can’t bear to let a spot to go unkissed, a word to go unsaid, or a strand of hair to be left untouched. Not in this lifetime. Not in her lifetime.

With each passing day I accomplish so much, yet when it comes to the things that really matter, I accomplish so little.

But not today. Time, today I will not waste you. Time, today I will not take you for granted. Time, today I will make the most of every second you have to offer. Time, today I will be thankful. Thankful you have not run out on me. Thankful I still have time to kiss her face, tickle her belly, and count her freckles.

Today I will be thankful for Time. Because you haven’t run out on me. Not yet, anyway. Because I know full well that you can. And you have. To some very precious souls who thought they would have time tomorrow to kiss, to laugh, to hug, to dance, to run, to play, to live. But time ran out.

So today I will be thankful for the Time I have. And I will use it for good.

Sincerely,
Rachel
A woman determined to stop wasting you, my precious gift of Time

Rachel Macy Stafford is a mother, teacher, and writer who started a journey to let go of distraction and perfection to grasp what really matters. Please join her at Hands Free Mama or join The Hands Free Revolution on Facebook and finally start living!