An ever-growing realization of the finiteness of life can leave me feeling blue. I accept the fact I ought to be prepared to depart this existence at any moment, and the odds of that moment arriving increase with each and every birthday.
Although this information is not breaking news, for some reason lately, I’m more acutely aware of the possibility. I suspect the heightened awareness of my mortality may have something to do with holiday memories of departed loved ones.
A trail of trickling tears can be set off by sentiments in a book or news article, something someone says or does, thinking about my kids or grandkids or by simply sitting and gazing at my husband or dog . . . or more often than not, no reason at all.
Time does, indeed, march on. Is it weird not to want to miss the ending? I’ve led a wonderful life, so how could I have the audacity to feel sad that the story of my life will be over before I also know the ending of the story of those I know and love? Yes, curiosity is part of my psyche.
Why do thoughts of the past lead to lamenting an unseeable future?
When my mind hovers in this realm, I sternly remind myself to redirect my thoughts and refocus! I firmly tell myself to live in the moment because . . . I. Am. Alive. Now. Pinch myself, if needed! And then, remind myself I can walk, talk, see, hear, touch and love. Acknowledging this, I have made a resolution to concentrate on being present in this now, as there’s no reclaiming the past, nor any way to predict the future.
Sigh. Now, if only the keeping of this resolution could be as simple as writing the words . . .