Time

By 21st Century standards, I lost my parents young. I was 29 when my father died and 35 when my mother departed. There is a common sentiment that the loss of parents is the true start of adulthood. I think this is mostly true. Not just because you run out of people to call when your bar tab gets out of hand one night, but more so because you unflinchingly have to face the fact you will die. In addition to a newfound understanding of one's own mortality, perspective on time tends to shift as well.

My mother was a few months shy of 70 when she left. Having the ability to look at my life and say I might have 30 years left, but knowing that I will in fact die + or - this reference point is an interesting adjustment. Even fatherhood didn't have the earth-shattering effect on my perspective on time, and that one rocked my world in my early 20s. These two aspects of my own relationship with the world, both as a father and as an orphan - I've started looking at the lives of my children and measuring my time with them in fleeting moments.

As my 9 year old daughter sat with her head on my lap watching a movie last night I realized that those moments will be gone very soon. Just like my 15-year-old, 6'3", 265-lb left-tackle son, we don’t cuddle half as much as we did a fraction of a decade ago. I know things are going to change with her too. That's the thing – I see decades now. Not next Friday night or next paycheck, not my next deployment or next assignment. I look at my life, the lives of the people closest to me and my plans are so far out.

This relationship with time and the pending changes with all four of my children presents an overwhelming sense of joy and appreciation for little affections. I can already see these small humans marching off into the world to have their own adventures.