Caring Today Blog

The Gift of Time

Submitted by mlichter on 2006, December 13 - 21:52.

When you don't know what the next moment will bring, treasure each moment you have.

When, at 50, my wife Lynne was first diagnosed with an advanced case of scleroderma complicated by severe pulmonary hypertension, we immediately knew that a different type of biological clock than that usually considered was ticking quite loud. It didn't take long for me to know how much time we had, for the first Internet page I pulled up regarding pulmonary hypertension explained immediately that the afflicted person has approximately two years from time of diagnosis. Lynne was not one to be scared easily, or at least not one to show it, and she took the news with timeless grace.

Time became even more of a factor after the first year, especially around days that were special to us both. It started with Valentine's Day. I don't remember what I got Lynne, but she gave me a watch. It was a nice timepiece, moderately priced, handsome in design, something I was proud to wear. I thought it an odd gift from Lynne, however, since she knew I already had a few working watches--a number of which she'd gotten me in our 21 years together. I wore the new watch every day, putting my older watches in the drawer.

My birthday arrived a couple of months later and, to my surprise, I opened a gift box to find something I could swear I did not need--another watch! It was of higher quality than the one I received in February, possibly even more handsome, but something I considered superfluous. It was of similar rectangular shape to the earlier gift, but had a black band rather than brown, so I alternated watches depending on what I was wearing.

Time went by, as did Lynne's health, before the next event arrived. Fact is, by the time our wedding anniversary arrived in early December, nearly two years had passed since she was diagnosed with severe pulmonary hypertension. I'd spent that time splitting my days among going to work, raising our daughter, managing our household and caring for my wife. Lynne spent much time thinking about the life she'd enjoyed and the times she would not share with those she'd be leaving behind. But she didn't do so in a maudlin manner. Rather, she relished each moment, expressing her gratitude, informing us of her developing philosophy and reminding all who would listen of the importance of the time we get to share.

When our anniversary arrived on December 9, I presented Lynne with a crystal flamingo. A funny-looking bird with a graceful line, flamingos always made Lynne happy. She had quite a collection of them in and around the house, long-necked pink peculiarities that provoked a smile from all who saw them. Lynne presented me with a box, told me not open it and to take it to the post office, where I was to return it to the store from which it had come. I didn't know what was inside it, but considering the amount of insurance Lynne insisted I take out on it, I knew it was valuable. I didn't ask where my gift was that anniversary; just having her with me was gift enough at that point.

Time then took its toll. Within a week, Lynne entered the hospital for the last time, passing away just 10 days after our anniversary. But she still had something in store for me.

The morning after her death, at around 10 a.m., the doorbell rang. A deliveryman was there, announcing he had a package for Lynne. I accepted it, noticing that it was from the same store to which I'd returned the package on our anniversary. Upon opening it, I noticed it was not for Lynne but from Lynne to me. It was a beautiful watch, an extraordinary timekeeper. And I understood.

Time, my wife had been telling me for so long, goes on. It stops for no one. It is precious and should not be wasted. It is the thing that heals all wounds, painful as they might be. As time goes by, she was reminding me, our daughter would blossom into an intelligent and beautiful woman. In time, I would realize, my life would return to something resembling normal. Over time, I would continue to remember her. Time, she taught me, is not the only thing that lasts forever. So does the love of one's spirit.