The Time We Long For

Time.

Such a small word for multiple meanings.

Yes, it can be defined in so many different ways. Then from it’s definition, we have so many questions.

For example, time can be the hours, minutes and seconds in a single day.

Time might mean how many days until summer vacation. I have seen the twitch in a student’s eye when they cannot take anymore school, I still have something to teach, and they need that last bell to ring during a traditional, non Covid school year.

Then that definition of time brings us questions:

How much time is really left? Let me check my smart watch I use for answers on my quiz.

How much more could this teacher possibly try to teach me? 

Time can be the number of days a protest takes place, or how long it takes others to realize a message they really need to hear.

Time might be the weather permitting or the length of a season. The time you have off of work until you need to return. It might be an analysis of how much time you spend working vs. with family and friends. It could be the minutes saved from a short cut you know to where you travel.

 

However you define time as a number or abstract, there is an absolute in all definitions and questions you ask.

Time is something you never get back. There are no returns, or guaranteed promises of careful handling.

There is a specific definition to time I wish to share today, and unfortunately, it lacks answers to any questions we might have at the end.

In life, we all have a time we long for. This cuts through all of our differences to the core of what is true. I acknowledge this may come at different ages to some more than others, but it comes.

I long for a time four weeks and a day ago when my daughter was still seemingly healthy. When I could’ve replayed my time.

Instead of focusing on the part of time when I still believe I could’ve saved her, because it can overwhelm me if I’m careless, this post focuses on the time longed for when I heard her voice next to me. I never understood longing until now.

This kind of time cuts to the core of you. It feels you with an odd sense of joy and sadness at the same time; something you may only feel if you’ve lost someone. I long for Corrie to come downstairs in jellies or sandals, so we can have a quick “discussion” about how she has to wear tennis shoes on the farm.

”Mommy, you wear sandals.”

”Because I hate tennis shoes.”

”Then I can’t see my pretty toes,” Corrie said. “Aunt Diane painted them.”

I wanted to play more actively with my kids: to take a moment in their interest and play dolls sitting in a circle talking.

I cannot focus on this when I look at time. This a nonexistent reality. There is the reality of the time I longed for with what I did as a parent, and I have tried to make my children a part of everything I do.

Corrie played school a lot. She’d either line up her favorite stuffed animals, give or take a few unicorns, tallest to shortest. She also put her Barbies and Disney dolls in a semicircle, all wearing each others’ dresses, for her daily lesson.

She said to me once, “You should teach little kids. It’s easier.”

I raised an eyebrow and laughed.

”Mommy, you could be with me.”

”I’m good with middle school.”

”Why don’t you want to teach preschool?”

”Because I’d make someone cry.”

Because I am way too sarcastic and want to impress upon young teens the need for some form of reality because they’re the ones who are going to run the world sooner.

Before my daughter’s death, I felt a different sense of loss. It didn’t go away completely.

There is a time I long for where I am with the students I taught again. Our time was cut short in March, and I did not see their faces again. Corrie knew how much I loved my students and how dedicated I’ve been to my work.

”Do you love your students more than me?” Corrie asked.

”No,” I said. “I will always love you and your brother first. I get them for one year. I have you for a lifetime.”

But I was wrong about the lifetime thing.

There is a time I long for that will not be returned to me.

Time never guaranteed careful handling or a lifetime.

It only promised there would be a time I longed for.