Praying for Time

Bryony has been asking for "Buh-lah!" lately, which is her way of pronouncing "Abuela" (grandma, in Spanish), our next door neighbor Mrs. G. They absolutely love each other, to the point that Bryony asks for her in the mornings before going to school, in the evenings when we return home, at dinner, and just about any other time she might think of her. I have started taking Bryony next door more often to see her "Buh-lah!" and get some quality time in with my good friend.
This evening, for some reason, Mrs. G., 81-years old and still driving and working parttime, started reminiscing about old friends she worked with some thirty years ago. She remarked that all seven women have preceded her in death, even though they were all younger than her. It was a strange conversation to have, because she seemed to have some amount of pride that she, the oldest, had lived the longest. However, the deaths of all seven of these women seemed to remind her that her own mortality is on the horizon. Indeed, it was hard to consider that my scrappy and sassy friend is making end-of-life considerations. I've known her for nine years now, and I have seen how age has affected her--how standing up is a little more difficult, remembering details a little tougher, keeping her patience is tad harder. But she is still my "Mrs. G." to me and so despite these things, I only see my friend.

Today, on Facebook, a friend was wishing for the weekend. I couldn't help but urge her to stop wishing for time to go by. So many people wonder how so much time passes by, how our ages get away from us, how children grow and people die so fast. And I think about how we all wish for time to pass so that the Christmas season is upon us, or how we wish for a long day at work to be over, or we can't wait till our kid's tantrum stage is over. All this wishing away is time in our lives, time we'll never get back, time we should be relishing and enjoying, in the moment. Even when we're at work. Even when it's September and chilly and brown and we really want it to be December and a snow-white Christmas. Even when we think we don't have one more iota of tolerance for a misbehaving kid. These are the moments, the days that we will look back on and wonder what happened.

Assuming I don't get mowed down by a bus, or murdered by a serial killer or die of bird flu, my friend Mrs. G will likely die before me. I know it, I accept it, but I have a hard time thinking of it. As far as I'm concerned, she needs to be here as Bryony grows and becomes her own person, making her own memories and enjoying her own moments. And one day, I will tell Bryony not to wish away the school year to get to summer vacation, or just "get through" the school day so she can come home. Live the moments of your life, and make the most of them, my dear girl. And make sure that many, many, many of them include your "Buh-lah!".