Life goes by too quickly. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, and months into...decades. My granddaughter is graduating from kindergarten, my oldest grandson is going to be in the 6th grade, and my baby boy will be 3.
On my dresser is a photo of myself and my great-grandmother; I must have been about 4 years old at the time. Four...that was 55 years ago, but it seems like just yesterday.
So, where does the time go?
It rests in photographs, letters, and in our memories. It lines the walls in beautiful frames, and fills the pages of family albums. Time can be found in boxes filled with 8mm reels, VCR tapes, and DVDs; cards, letters, and journals kept in dresser drawers, desks, or shoe boxes in the closet. It's found in the lines on the faces of those we love, in the old boots that sit next to the fireplace, the worn rocker/recliner, or the handkerchief in my dresser.
In short, time never really goes anywhere. It sticks around reminding us of where we came from and the road we've traveled.
While antique shopping with Moi this weekend, I saw many photographs of men, women, and children that looked to have been taken in the early 1900's. Looking at them, I realized that even when we are gone and forgotten by those we have loved, time never forgets.
Time - amazing.