Dear Father Time,
You are being cruel to me as of late. You and fate have conspired for me to meet up with a couple of people I used to know, who are about a decade older than I am. I am shocked to see how 'old' they look. Now I am panicked that I have about ten good years left. Frightening. (It would have been nice to arrange for me to have been wearing make-up and *not* wearing my cleaning sweats.)
Then yesterday, as I looked at pictures of my 18 year old nephew, you sucker punched me. All I can see is the little boy who used to sit in my lap and talk to me. How did that happen Father Time? How did it happen that fast?
The true test of my mettle was to have my oldest comment, "Cousin S turned 18? Cool. I didn't know he was only 5 years older than me!" My oldest son can't be leaving me in 5 short years. I an not ready for this. I am not ready at all. When he was small, these years were so far from being anything but a hazy dream in my mind, I hate the sharpening clarity of my vision of the future. I hate it Father Time, and I'm not too crazy about you either.
I owe you a grudging thanks, for reminding me in a most unpleasant way, that the time to make memories is now.
So, thank you Father Time, you arrogant bastard.
Comparing my reflection, to those of my images taped to the mirror, trying to figure out how much deeper and longer my laugh lines are now.