Chapter 16 · 4 min 03 sec
Borrowed Time
Gratitude for the unearned gift of extra time — afternoons that feel like grace.
Lyrics· 279 words
I used to think there'd always be another summer down the road Another song to learn by heart Another story to be told I thought the years move slowly like clouds across the sky
Funny how they start to run The older that you get in life So pull up one more chair and stay a little while We're all living on borrowed time
So let's make tonight worth remembering Raise a glass, tell another story, sing another line We're all living on borrowed time So don't save your laughter for another day
The clock keeps moving anyway We're all living on borrowed time I've watched children become dreamers I've watched dreamers become old
I've watched people chase forever Things they never got to hold But the moments that stay with you never seem to cost a dime They're usually found in conversations on borrowed time
We're all living on borrowed time So let's make tonight worth remembering Raise a glass, tell another story, sing another line We're all living on borrowed time
So don't save your laughter for another day The clock keeps moving anyway We're all living on borrowed time Not one of us can stop the river
Not one of us can slow the sun So maybe the secret isn't holding on Maybe it's loving while it's here We're all living on borrowed time
So come sit closer to the fire Raise a glass, tell another story, take the choir higher We're all living on borrowed time And maybe that's the reason these little moments shine
We're all living on borrowed time One more song, one more laugh, one more memory Before the night goes by
*A story about time that comes as a gift*
Last winter, Valentim's grandfather got very sick.
He was in hospital for three weeks, which was the longest three weeks of Valentim's life. The house felt strange without him — too quiet in some places, too loud in others, as if the rooms didn't know how to behave.
Then, gradually, his grandfather got better.
This was not the expected thing. The doctors said so themselves, in careful voices. His grandfather came home thinner and slower, with a new walking stick and a list of things he wasn't allowed to eat. But he came home.
Something was different after that.
Before the illness, Valentim's grandfather had been busy — always on his way somewhere, always with something to do. A committee meeting, a neighbour to visit, a garden that needed work. Their time together was in the gaps between things.
Now he had nowhere to be.
On Saturdays, Valentim would arrive at the old house and his grandfather would already be in the garden, in his chair by the lemon tree, apparently waiting for nothing in particular. Valentim would sit next to him and they would talk — really talk, the kind of talking where no one was looking at the time.
His grandfather told him things he'd never said before. About being young. About choices he'd made that he'd have made differently, and some he wouldn't change for anything. About Valentim's grandmother, who had died before Valentim was born, and what she was like.
One afternoon Valentim said, "Why didn't you tell me these things before?"
His grandfather was quiet for a moment. "I didn't think there was a rush," he said.
He looked at the lemon tree, which was heavy with fruit.
"I was wrong about that," he said. "I was wrong about the rush."
Valentim thought about that on the bus home. About how easy it was to assume there would always be more time — next week, next year, when things settled down. He thought about the people in his own life he wanted to really talk to.
He took out his phone and called his mother. Not for any reason. Just to talk.
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*We always think there will be more time. Sometimes, we're lucky enough to be reminded that we should use the time we have.*
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