#ihatemirrors

It was one of those mornings when the image in the mirror surprised me. What a cruel, heartless bitch time can be and all my accusations flung in disgust at the one eighth inch thick piece of foil backed glass couldn’t alter its reflection. Time is too constant, too damned relentless to fall for my denials. The truth, after all, is the truth. My mind reached back to one of the last times I visited my father in the nursing home. He was ninety years old, frail body resting in the wheel chair and even though, more and more, the dementia kept him in his own world, that day he had moments of perfect lucidity. I was sitting next to him as he gazed out the window at a sunny, cloudless day, he turned to me and said with total surprise, even shock, “Son, I’m old. I’m really old!” My father turned his eyes back to the scene outside and almost whispered, “How did that happen? When did that happen?”  Years later and there I stood, staring at that patient glass, knowing we are all caught in a wave and there is no escape. “I don’t know Dad, it just happens.”

SHIIIIITTTTT