I should have known
at your age, in a string of days the year is gone
but in that space of time it takes so long
because we can't make up
for the time that we've lost
I must let those memories provide
no little girl can stop her world to wait for me
every time we say goodbye
you're frozen in my mind
as the child that you never will be
you never will be again
Coming to terms with your life and your inevitable demise is widely considered healthy and wise. There is still much to be said for going out as one came in, kicking and screaming having to be dragged out. Contentedness and acceptance lead to feeling that things are as they must be, and that things should be (as they are). Life is the shaping, the building, (and) death is letting things be. Contentedness says this was so good, it is ok if this is the last thing I do, make, say, etc. I can live with that (no pun intended)[<- was there]. Such auto-eulogizing or self containment perspectivizing comes along with those whose circumstances and/or predilections and personality gives one reason and time enough to contemplate that end not so far forthcoming. It gets to the point, if one is accepting of it enough, where one is more comfortable in planning for death than they are in planning for what remains of their lives. So many think that because death is certain, one ought to at least try to see it coming and not to be caught unawares, but in searching or straining to be ready for whenever that time comes upon oneself, one can lose a little from every moment between now and then. I am not warning against fear of death, dread, or depression. Many enough will speak to and know enough about that. I am counseling against contentment, acceptance, and peace. They are all well and fine in moderate doses, but being too much at peace is to be dead while one lives. Hold fast to the yearning, the restlessness, the drives that drove you to be here. They cannot take you beyond the end of the road, but each moment you cling to them just a little bit harder they give you back that need to be, that state of perpetual wanting, hunger, and needing of what it means to truly live. Know contentment, treasure it, but keep it in a box for when you need it most, and dive headfirst into the cataclysm of unmet needs and almost unending problems requiring attention and help. That is the stuff life is made of.
(Note: Time is approximate to the chronology of the order of these posts. Estimated to have been written in / around February of 2003.)
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