Each and every day, I learn something new about adulthood. In this ruthless, scorching hot summer, I learned an unfortunate lesson about life taking its course. Personally and for my peers, loved ones have had their last laugh with their grandchildren.
In my youth, I only knew of a ticking clock like the one Cinderella had to run from. Even when learning how to tell time in elementary school, I was focused on hours, not years. Hours are the only increments of time when children chant on the bus, “school-seven cruel hours of our lives.” Years were the years I was hoping would pass until I got to be in fifth grade with the rest of the big kids.
It was an afterthought until I found myself at 18 in a hospital room with a ticking clock in my peripheral vision. I enjoy every second as if it’s the last. I hear a voice in the back of my head, whispering that cliche phrase they say of life passing you by. It’s eating up my conscience until my conscience has clocked in late, and the plane ride home is already as rotten as Cinderella’s pumpkin.
As I sit here with my cat lying in my lap, I think differently now. I’m used to the sound of his purring, so I can block it out when I’m writing. He readjusts his sleeping position to the curve of my leg, and I know that I will be feeling the discomfort tomorrow morning. It’s all regular. I know now to accept he won’t be here forever, and I will cherish this warmth. Meanwhile, life will take its course, and I’ll forever keep those I lose and Heaven gains in my heart.