Where Did the Time Go?

“Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.” — Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, Book IV (trans. George Long)

It is early Monday morning, and a wonderful weekend in New Orleans has come to an end. As I open my laptop and begin to write, I feel deeply grateful but also unexpectedly sad.

The sadness is not simply about leaving the city or returning with my wife to Baton Rouge. It is the sharper realization that life is moving quickly, and moments like this pass before I am ready to let them go.

I also feel anxious about what lies ahead. As we grow older, I find myself thinking more often about our health - the battles with cancer we have already faced, and the chronic conditions I continue to fight.

Some days, these concerns feel immediate and demanding. On other days, they remain quietly in the background, still shaping my thoughts even when I try not to dwell on them.

Our son is getting married in October to a beautiful human being, and our daughter is dating someone equally wonderful. I am grateful to see them building full lives, but I am also struck by how quickly time has passed.

It feels like only yesterday they were little, and now they are stepping into adulthood with people who bring them joy. It leaves me wondering, almost in disbelief: where has the time gone?

I remember the days of changing diapers, dropping them off at daycare, waiting in carpool lines that seemed to last forever, sitting through marathon dance recitals on Father’s Day, and coaching baseball games on hot, humid Louisiana evenings.

At the time, those years felt endless. Now they seem to have passed in a blur.

Peggy and I were both deeply immersed in our careers while raising our family. Most nights were filled with homework, dance practice, baseball, errands, and whatever else needed to be done.

It was a demanding season of life, but it was also rich with moments that now feel more precious than I realized at the time.

Getting older is a gift not everyone receives, and I am deeply grateful to still be here - living, breathing, and present in my body. I no longer take that for granted, at least not the way I once did.

I know that one day I will die, and that truth brings a real sadness with it.

I carry a quiet awareness of mortality beneath everything: that one day I will no longer be able to touch my wife, and she will no longer be able to touch me. People may miss me for a time, perhaps only for a moment, and then the world will continue moving forward - until, eventually, even it does not.

So, what does it all mean?

I do not know.

I am still searching.