Facts & Arguments is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
Time presses on me now. It used to be that I could spend the entire day not looking at a clock or consulting my watch. I had my favourite times; dusk, when the colours in nature make artists stare in envy; and especially midnight, when the stars blaze through the outline of my bedroom window. There is a stillness then, punctuated only by the rhythmic breathing of my boyfriend beside me, the cat on the other side and the dog at my feet. We are happy, content and we sleep in peace.
But I am 22 years younger than my boyfriend. And while that may seem like a chasm to some people, it is not to us. We have always understood and respected each other. For 20 years, we fostered a friendship that outlasted many of our other relationships.
We have survived the near-fatal wounds inflicted on us by those who cast us aside; and yet, he remains ever hopeful, amidst all of the naysayers and the walking wounded, he believes in love.
How did I get so lucky?
This summer we hiked to Paget Lookout in Yoho National Park. We were negotiating switchbacks; him with the ease of a goat and me with the lumbering of an ox, when he tells me that the first time he hiked this trail was in 1972.
"How old were you then?" he asks, full of ease of breath.
"I was 2," I croak.
"Oh," he says, turning and looking down at me. "I could have carried you on my back."
"The opportunity may still present itself." I say clutching his ever-ready arm for support.
We need more time.
My mother passed away shortly after that hike and I realized that he is only seven years younger than she was when she died. I'm filled with dread.
I hear the ticking of an imagined clock somewhere in the dark and it is telling me that I need to start paying attention to it.
Is it time or love that has me panicked? A little of both perhaps.
It is okay to allow time to run out on those relationships that weigh you down; but to allow it to run out on those you love is unthinkable.
In the beginning of our relationship, I thought that my biggest challenge was going to be the whispers and the looks, the monikers that would inevitably be thrust upon me for dating an older man.
I never believed that my biggest "A-ha" moment would be coming to terms with the realization that, at 46, I am in love for the first time and, as such, I want to slow down the clock to give us more time to enjoy each other.
I sometimes feel like a nervous passenger in a car who constantly hits an invisible brake in an effort to slow everything down and regain control, but it never happens.
I should just learn from my dog Tempest and stick my head out of the window letting the moment be all that I need to make me feel blissful; I should allow the wind to drown out the sound of the clock's ticking.
There are days when I feel old. My back hurts or it takes me a little longer to loosen up in the morning thanks to two vehicle accidents in the past 10 years.
On those days, he says to me, "keep moving, you just have to keep moving." And he goes off to chop wood or mow a lawn or ski an impossibly high mountain at an unbearable speed.
I admire him, I want to be like him, but I know I can't; it's just not who I am and the best part is that he is okay with that. He accepts that and lives every minute with me like they were the most precious he has ever been given. He has it figured out.
I need to learn.
We are both aging, it is a fact, but one that we collectively fight against in our own way. Is it fear of death? Not for me; for him, I think it is the fear that he may not have lived every day to the fullest.
Together, we have vowed to be there for each other; to age gracefully with promises to always hold hands or lean my head on his shoulder when we go for our daily stroll, never to go to bed angry and to always make sure we kiss before either one of us leaves the house.
What else is there?
Is age really only a number, or a series of promises we make to each other to not walk this life alone? He smiles as I press him for answers to these questions. "It is okay to get older just not to feel older," he says. He throws the ball to the dog and the dog gives a chase. I smile and twist the Latin: Tempest fugit.
So, in the early hours of the morning when his hands find me across the bed and he pulls me closer to whisper that he loves me, I look out at those clear, bright stars and I know that we both feel like teenagers again.
Joanne McGilvray lives in Lake Louise, Alta.