The Hour Will Always Strike

Life would be easier if we didn’t measure things in time. 

If we didn’t think of time I wouldn’t know that it is three years since he died.

There would be no anniversaries.

Three years. Think about it. Not very long or a really long time. It is all about perspective. But perspective is difficult when you are busy clock watching. When you are measuring how long since you last saw someone. When you are trying to preserve the memory of how they walked, how they laughed, of their voice.

If we didn’t measure time we wouldn’t have to consider how we will spend the anniversary.

How long do we immortalise the day for? This year it falls on a weekend; I don’t need to consider taking the day off work. But, yes, I probably would have done, if that was not the way it fell. Last year I thought I would be ready to put February 4th back to ‘normal’ by 2017. Now I know it will take a little longer.

As I told my Mum however, I shan’t spend it mourning. I shall make sure I enjoy the day. Because I am lucky enough to have the day. And he wouldn’t want us to stop the clocks. He certainly never did.

Tonight I acknowledged to myself, for the first time, that I am a little angry towards him that we have to miss him. A little angry that we have to strain for those memories.

I will face February 4th head on, at full speed. But I will pause, for clocks may not stop but they do repeat. The hour will always strike.

Pause.

And then keep moving forward. 

I now mainly write on my new blog; An Adventurous Girl. I would love it if you would join me there by clicking here.

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