By Michele Deluca
Niagara Gazette
NIAGARA FALLS —
My oldest son’s godfather is in town. A lovely man and one of our closest friends.
We were all sitting on a boat on the Niagara River — at the invitation of my son and the charming young woman that he is seeing — and we were talking about how quickly time passes.
It was literally moments ago when both of my sons were small.
I try to tell new parents that. I try to explain that that little face will change if you blink and if you turn your attention to other things, the child you are holding will have grown into an adult before you can imagine it.
My son’s godfather and his wife are separated now, but remain dear friends to each other and to us. Together we share so many priceless memories of travels, parties and sheer youthful exuberance in all manner of living; and many of those memories include my two sons.
We were with Uncle Bruce and Aunt Cindy when my youngest, Luke, at age two, was dubbed “The Lukester.” My oldest got his first surfboard from his godfather.
So, when we were on the river watching my grown son capably captain his friend’s boat, discussing the stunningly swift passage of time, I thought once again of how hard I try to make time stand still. And how often I fail.
On the morning of my wedding, nearly three decades ago, I remember for the very first time being conscious of the fact the day would pass too quickly if I didn’t hold on to it. As I combed my hair I remember thinking, be aware of this moment. It is frozen like a repeating video in my head. And still the day went by in a blur and I lost many moments of that special event forever.
Throughout my adult life, wizened by growing awareness that days pass like cars speeding by on a track, I remind myself to stay in the moment. Sometimes I can actually do that and stop for a time to appreciate the laugh lines on the face of a loved one. Or I remember to stand and fully watch the sweep of an egret as it flaps it giant wings across the river in the morning sunshine.
But, life has a way of piling up on a person, the minutes coming up fast and pushing away what’s left of the day. No matter how relentlessly familiar the days appear, huge chunks of time fly by and then whole years of life have passed.
Sometimes all I want to do is hold tight to right where I am and be fully present but my attention is so often needed by someone or something that all the minutes are spent before I am aware that the day is over.
I’ve been thinking lately that maybe I’ve got it wrong. Maybe you can’t clench hold of time to make it stop for a moment. That might be like snatching a butterfly in flight and trying to hold it still to appreciate its beauty. If you are careful you can do it for a few seconds, but not for long or you alter the experience of seeing a butterfly. And the butterfly suffers.
Time seems like that to me these days. You can hold on to it for just a moment or two so that you are aware of exactly where you are, and then you must let it go. And I guess that has to be enough, the simple awareness, just for a second, that you are where you are for this moment in time.
Then, at least, when you get where you are going, there’s a better chance that you will know where you’ve been.
