It was the tired chiming of a well-loved mantel clock whose batteries were in need of replacement that reminded me of how precious time truly is, how it marches on even when one is at a standstill in life. Strange that a sound that for so many years had always brought a feeling of comfort could bring such a urgent feeling of unfulfillment. Once a pleasant sound that I was able to keep up with, which had beat strongly in time with me, ticking to the many changes in my new life after the divorce and following me to the different homes as I began an exciting life as newly single, then once again in a committed relationship. Now, the chiming seemed a haunting reminder of the many dreams that I had yet to carry through.

How is it that a mere four years earlier I had felt so young and confident in my new life, certain in my conviction that I was moving forward, striving towards a goal of independence. Why is it that I am feeling so worn out and unsure of myself these days? Perhaps it is because each morning when I look in the mirror I do not recognize that drawn face, having lost myself to the many needs of my family, those who I love completely and almost to a fault. Daily I willingly do for them just what they need and expect of me. Perhaps I need to reflect on what it is that I need for myself.

I cannot get enough of my beautiful, sweet grandson, soon to be a year old, (and how can it be that a year has passed so soon?) But, while babysitting him, at times a guilt creeps in telling me that I need to be more productive at work. True, it is fortunate that I have a career that enables me to work at an office at home, wise I was that I chose this path so that I could be there for my daughters while they were growing up, so why not do the same with my dear little grandson?

Time, is the reason. Time has stolen my youth and left behind a little nuisance called aging. At age 46 I just do not have the stamina that I used to have. How can that be, when just a few years ago I was energetically starting out in a new life, dating and socializing. The past several years had been a whirlwind of nonstop drama, raising two teenage daughters who suffered much

This past year alone, in disbelief, I have watched my oldest daughter become a capable loving mother. I say disbelief because it feels like only last week that it was I becoming that same loving mother, cradling my precious daughter in my arms for the first time as I rocked her quietly in the night. After becoming a grandmother I know for the first time just what that phrase 'time is fleeting' means. Yes, this past year has brought many occasions for me to feel that clock ticking faster, as well as hear it. My youngest daughter has gone away to a University, finding her own way on a large campus in Chicago, confidently juggling the train, taxi's, work and college schedules. How can it be that this is the same little girl who cried broken heartedly when she struggled with her tap dancing.

I am proud beyond words that my daughters are becoming successful in the paths that they have chosen. I like to think that I had some part in them turning out to the confident, smart, lovely and grounded young women that they are.

Now, the time has come for me to turn my attention to myself. I have known this for quite a while, but have not made a concerted effort to make the time to really think extensively about what it is I want to do for myself, which dreams I want to hold on to and which ones to let go. Perhaps in doing so, I will move forward, gaining a new vitality and energy in this second phase of my life. In doing so I hope to become a more vibrant woman, better armed for all the many demands that those that I love dearly place on my.

But first, I must replace those batteries in the mantel clock so that it will return to its original performance, steadfast in keeping time to the rapid pace of my new beginning.

About the Author

As a woman with a great appreciation of the moments of joy that every day life can bring, as well as an understanding of the darker side of people, Donna is a novice personal journaler, hoping to share her voice with others.