We continued cleaning things out, sharing stories here and there about things in the house that we remember and stories that those things reminded us of. We tried to avoid talking about Grandma being gone permanently. Frequently we talked about how it was hard to just keep going through everything without her.
After a few hours, we were finally packing up those egg timers. My mom asked me why I wanted the one that didn't work properly. I told her the same reason that I have loved that egg timer for years, "Because time stops."
I feel like that's what I need sometimes. I need time to stop. I need time to take a break so that I can take a break and not feel like I am wasting time. It goes so quickly, but to where? What happens to time after it is gone? Does it go to the same place we go when we are gone? I picture it just slipping away like a silvery whisp, as unattainable and untouchable as the souls that leave bodies behind. We cannot keep track of time, it keeps track of us. Is it sad because it is constantly going somewhere never to return or is it wiser because it keeps moving forward, never stopping? Right now, I still stare at the timer that is stuck about halfway through.
