In our lifetime, through the course of conversation and everyday living, we will be asked thousands upon thousands of questions. There will be some we know the answer to - then there will be ones we do not. Such a question was put to me lately by a neighbor's child. It was a simple, innocent question. It was one that got me thinking long and hard for an answer. She said, "Please, can someone tell me, what's forever for?" Webster's dictionary defines forever as an adverb meaning at all times; through endless ages; eternally. That part of the question was answered quickly enough. It was the other part of the question that had me stumped. "What's it for?" The following week had me doing some serious pondering and looking back on my life trying to find an answer for her.
I remembered that, some years back, I was standing in a hospital room talking with my father. I was getting reassurance that he was going to be fine. He assured me that he was. I reminded him of his first grandson's confirmation coming up, and that was something we both had been looking forward to.
Two weeks later, I get a phone call from my mother saying my father had passed away from a heart attack. Soon after his funeral, I found myself standing by his grave pondering that question: What's forever for? I know people cannot live forever, but sometimes, we think they will. At his funeral, I vowed to remember him forever. Now six years later, I find myself hag to look at photographs to help refresh my memory of him. It is funny how things we think will last forever never really do. I remember, as a child, the feeling of the whole family being together each night having supper around the kitchen table. Being young and naive, I thought that sense of unity and love would last forever. It didn't.
My brother, sister and I grew up and eventually moved away. My father died, leaving my mother alone. The times changed, and through the years, so did people. Although I started a family of my own some years later and continued the tradition, it was not the same. I told myself that that feeling is gone forever.
The feeling of becoming a parent for the first time is one I thought I would remember forever. I was walking 10 feet off the ground, happier than I had ever been before. That feeling erodes quickly by little things that follow the birth of, a child. They were the midnight feedings, the dirty diapers. Reality set in, and once again, forever became just another word.
The day of my wedding had my wife and me pledging our love forever. Little did we know at the time that forever, in our case, would mean only 19 years. The end of the week found me more confused than ever. Questions led me to more questions. I really began to think, at this point, that this was one question that quite possibly could not be answered.
Then, late one evening while getting ready for bed, something dawned on me. Something I hadn't thought of before. Maybe, just maybe, things aren't supposed to last forever. Because if they did, we would not appreciate them as much. My brother and sister, my children, my dad and my marriage all had one thing in common. They are all things that in my life I have taken for granted at some point in time. It scared me to admit that, but it's true. I think we are all guilty of taking things for granted. I have had friends come and go in my life, mainly because I hid behind the excuse that I was too busy to stop and share a part of me with them. I timed it once: It takes less than five seconds to give a hug, less than three seconds to say "I love you." But hey, what's the hurry? Why count the seconds and minutes or even the hours because we've got all day, right? Tomorrow will always be there, and so will next week. That's what I thought until my children grew up and moved away.
The child's definition of forever was then replaced by words like "we'll see" or "maybe." The things I planned on doing with them tomorrow suddenly disappeared.
Children, parents, friends, siblings - time stops for none of us. It's best to admit that right now. Take care of the hugs that need to be given. Take-the time to say "I love you." Maybe if we do, questions like "What's it for?" won't be asked anymore.
As for the neighbor girl, I didn't have the heart to tell her that I had found an answer to her question. She is only 11, and she will discover, on her own, soon enough, that nothing lasts forever
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