The Version of Me Who Thought She Had Time

The Feral Truth: The most valuable thing I've lost over the years wasn't certainty. It was the illusion that time was unlimited. 🦝💗☕

I think about her sometimes.

The version of me who thought she had time.

Time to call later.

Time to visit next month.

Time to start the project eventually.

Time to take the trip someday.

Time to figure things out.

Time felt endless back then.

Expandable.

Renewable.

Guaranteed.

Then life happened.

Not all at once.

Just enough times that I finally understood something.

Time is the one thing nobody gets more of.

Not patients.

Not caregivers.

Not any of us.

And once you really understand that, something shifts.

You stop postponing certain conversations.

You stop assuming opportunities will wait.

You stop treating tomorrow like a contract.

Because it isn't.

It's a possibility.

A gift.

A hope.

But never a guarantee.

Losing my dad changed that for me.

Watching my mom fight cancer changed that.

Watching Paul fight cancer changed that.

They didn't make me pessimistic.

Oddly enough, they made me more appreciative.

More aware.

More present.

Not every day, obviously.

Some days I'm still yelling at websites and losing my phone in my own house.

Growth has limits.

But I notice things differently now.

A laugh.

A conversation.

A random Tuesday that turns out to be important later.

The ordinary moments matter more than they used to.

Because I've learned how quickly ordinary becomes precious.

The younger version of me assumed there would always be more time.

The current version of me knows better.

And because of that, I think she appreciates life a little more.

Yours in chaos,

~Kari, The Feral Caregiver