Before long, we learn that in this life, we are not here forever. We learn through the changing of seasons, the loss of our pets in childhood, the death of a loved one.
We have no guarantee of numbers. So many days under the sun or drizzly afternoons spent gazing out windows. We think they are infinite but they are not. One will be the last. And this is not the hardest part. The hardest is knowing those we cherish will share our fate; we can make no deal to change that.
We grow up when we know this. And this is the deal we get to be here. We don't ask, yet are given opportunity to love, to embrace, to wonder and be scared, to scream and kiss and run and lie still in the cool grass under the flickering stars on a cool evening.
We go through this time, galloping or whispering across the years, with a vague knowledge of the end. We are born to love feverishly. To anguish and rebound. To flourish. We are born for each other.
It matters little where or when or how we are here. Our hearts share the same code. Although we spend our lives attempting to cement that which is impermanent, we come to the same end.
Our gift is not one of time because that is uncertain and unfairly metered out. We have one moment in which to live. Our gift is of comfort and care. We cradle those hearts we meet, bringing joy where there is sorrow and ease when there is turmoil. Those of us who have, and who can -- we must. It is the deal we make with the one we get.
This post originally appeared on Mama One to Three.