As I age, I realize that there are moments when you watch the end of time. Moments when one thing is passing on to the next when something is ending. The time of one thing ends and another begins.
Actually, that’s not what I realize.
I’ve always known when I watched the end of time. When I said goodbye to a childhood friend who was moving away. The first time I sat with a pet as they died. When I broke up with my first boyfriend. Graduated high school. Births, deaths, leave-takings. They are the end of time and I’ve always known that as they happened.
I’m learning what to do at the end of time.
I don’t stand back and let it happen. I try not take myself out of the flow too quickly. To not grasp or try to hold on, keeping myself present. I’ve tried to imagine it as if I were letting time run through my hands. I’m there. I weigh and measure, cradle it, but let it go under its own force.
I suppose you could say my marriage ended on January 4th when I asked for a divorce. Or maybe it ended on February 14th when we signed the separation agreement. Maybe it ends on Saturday when Owen carries the last box out of a moving van and into a new apartment. Maybe they are all endings.
15 years, 6 months, 12 days
15 years, 7 months, 23 days
15 years, 8 months, 3 days
That’s not nothing. That’s an ending.