The funny thing about momentous moments is that I can usually see them only by looking back. What I mean is that moments that are truly momentous don't always look that way at the time. In fact, almost every moment seems ordinary, normal, just like all the other moments. Rarely do I recognize something as momentous as it happens.
I'm sure that there have been some exceptions. Even so, my normal pattern is to identify something as momentous only in retrospect.
What that means, of course, is that I don't always see or understand or grasp what is happening as it happens.
And, sometimes, that lack of awareness can be a costly oversight.
I could mention a thousand examples, but a couple will suffice.
I used to climb up into Eric and Molly's loft beds and read books to them. Untold hours were devoted to that holy activity. Of course, I don't do that anymore. But there was a particular night when I did that for the very last time. And here's my point: on that last night, I had no idea that it was, in fact, the last night.
I remember sitting at Thanksgiving meals when the whole family was present, three generations in all. But there was, at some point, a last time when we were all together at Thanksgiving. And here's my point: when that last time happened, we had no idea that is was, in fact, the last time.
That kind of thing can be seen only looking back.
Mary Connell's poem is called "Final Sightings," and it goes something like this:
And so it is with every sweet occurrence
That lends any sense or comfort to our lives.
The ultimate gaze and the final phrase
Are pretty hard to recognize.
It will happen for the last time
And very likely no one will know
When it happened that it stopped happening.
So kiss me every time you go
Against returning so obscure
For even though I think I know a certain thing
I can't be sure.
Perhaps even today is momentous. And maybe one day I will look back and describe it that way.