On our walk last night on an abnormally warm March evening, Leanne asked me what I thought about Forever.
Earlier in the week, we’d watched the limited series “Forever” on Prime during dinner. It was an enjoyable show, and I’d recommend it if you’re looking for something to pass the time on these safe-at-home days. It’s well written, well cast, and is difficult to describe without giving too much away.
The show’s title, I think, is ironic. At its heart, it explores how we often, in the midst of our mortal lives, act like we have forever to do and say the things that matter. We don’t reach out in love; because, we seem to think that there will be time for that later. We let moments slip past; because, we believe there will always be others.
My interpretation is likely colored, as so many things are right now, by this virus. As the numbers of cases and deaths increase, it’s hard not to be reminded that none of has as many days as we wish. Nothing here is forever.
Perhaps it was the show, perhaps the moment, but I turned to my wife who has been a part of my life for almost twenty years now and told her that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the moments I’ve wasted: petty fights I’ve let ruin evenings, times I was distracted rather than present, all those times I’ve acted as though I would have a thousand years to wake up and fall asleep beside her.
I will, before the weekend is out, forget again. Maybe my mind, as some sort of primal defense, has to keep forgetting that all the things in this world are finite. COVID-19 may pass by our home, but something else will find us. Time continues to tick, and more and more I realize that we are beginning to leave youth behind.
But I hope for the grace of remembering that she and I are, like all of you, mortals whose lives are so short in the vast expanse of interstellar time. The sun, in its days, barely registers that we were here. For our Earth, we were here for just a moment. And moments, really, are all we have.
In the time it’s taken me to write this, someone’s loved one has passed from this life to the next. They no longer have the luxury of the illusion of forever, not this side of Heaven. There are, for them, no more chances, no more mornings to say and do the unsaid and undone.
I can’t tell you every detail of our walk last night; because I still don’t accept how finite our lives are. I did not cherish the setting sun, and how the wind brushed through Leanne’s hair. I did not give all her words the attention they deserved. I did not think how much I will miss them someday.
So, tonight, I will try again.