What am I going to do about this time?
Beau died four weeks ago today, a Monday at 6:30 a.m. As if Monday mornings weren’t tough in general, I now wake up and feel sick. This morning, I forgot for a few minutes, yet I still felt awful. My body knew even when my brain didn’t. There’s no escaping it.
I had a dad at 6:29 a.m. and one minute later I did not.
A lifetime ago, I was obsessed with another time on the clock. Actually, on a stopwatch.
Twenty-three seconds. That’s how fast I needed to swim the 50 freestyle in order to get the school record, make Senior National in 1986 and qualify for the Olympic Trials in 1988. I fixated on that time for four years of college–23 seconds on my mind for 1,400 days. Needless to say, I am very good at fixating on time.
So your timely response would be much appreciated.