Looking back and ahead

I was driving down the road the other day and was listening to the radio, singing along to a song about 'these are the days we will remember'. Fun song. Catchy tune.

Then it struck me. Not the song. An idea. A concept if you will.

How many more years will I be making memories?

I've got a big birthday coming up. Seventy Years old. At one time I would have thought that was practically ancient. May as well resign yourself to a life of sitting around, reading, drinking tea and, well, not doing much else.

But now? Now that the end of a decade is staring me in the face, I'm not ready to just fade into the sunset.

Trouble is, I see men and women who are older than me - people who used to be strong, solid, striding through life with head held high - now shuffling along. Looking so much weaker than they used to. Struggling to speak. It aches. Hurts. Reminds me of my own mortality coming closer. I feel like I'm watching a herd of lemmings plunging off a cliff and the rows in front of me are getting smaller and smaller.

Side question which I would like to know. Is it true that lemmings blindly run off cliffs? Where are these lemmings living that there are cliffs to hurl themselves off of?

Okay. Enough about that. 

I'm trying not to get maudlin, but it does make me think about how much is behind compared to what is ahead. And how I'm trying hard not to rake up too many regrets of things I have done or said. To use the time I have wisely and enjoy each day.

Someone else who has been spending time thinking about the past is Noelle Kittering. At the end of each of the Hearts of Kittering Creek books, she writes a 'letter' to her deceased husband, talking about regret. Secrets she's hidden from him.

Here's the beginning of one of her letters:

Dear Doug,

Time keeps slipping by, and each day takes more memories of you away. I try to hang onto them all. Try to keep them alive, but the other day, I forgot what your voice sounded like. I wanted to cry. Well, I did cry. Yet, each day you’re gone makes me appreciate you more. Makes me realize what I’m missing.

Did I tell you enough that I loved you? I know you loved me. You told me every day.