Time Stood Still

Yesterday, as I disrobed and was preparing to take a hot shower, I noticed that my bathroom seemed particularly still and quiet. As I gazed around the room, I noticed that my inexpensive, round, black clock with its white-face had stopped. I hurriedly changed the battery. The clock made a few feeble attempts at moving, plastic gears grinding, then gave up the ghost and stopped altogether. Poor thing, it had faithfully served our family for over twenty-five years.

It watched from its spot on the wall as the years rolled by. It saw all three of my children from the time they started kindergarten through high school and through the years until they moved out to raise families of their own. It stared down from its perch on the wall as my wife Cindy grew ill with the ovarian cancer. It watched through the short time that the disease grew inside her until it finally claimed her life. It counted out the seconds as my belly thickened, my whiskers grew white, and the hair on my pate thinned.

Over the years, it has faithfully served me, sharing its one sole talent, telling me what time it was. Its familiar click, click, click was a constant reminder that it was still there and sharing with us the exact time. That feat in itself was remarkable. This inexpensive machine never lost a second, unless its battery needed changed. What a faithful servant. Day after day it worked twenty-four hours with no reprieve and no breaks. Today, I will need to find a replacement. But what shall I buy? I will probably look for its twin. Nothing fancy, just a simple, plain timepiece to hang in its spot on the wall, hoping it will carry on the tradition of my old friend.