I came home today, and took Amelia to the ocean. We watched the sun set over the Pacific as the low tide took the ocean away from us and towards the horizon.
There’s a break about 40 yards out where the waves climb up as if there’s a ramp that blindly throws them in the air only to leave them with a long fall on the other side that wasn’t expected.
When you sit on the beach and look through those waves at the setting sun, there’s a calming effect. It’s a moment I wanted to last forever, but as quickly as the sun sets the moment disappears with it.
Every time I look at Amelia I realize just how ethereal everything actually is. Her entire life can be summarized as a series of moments built on top of each other but simultaneously forgotten as soon as the next one arrives. There is no need for memory. Only for experience.
I’ll remember every single one of these moments, and she’ll remember not a single one. Our first kiss. Our first sunset over the Pacific. The moment the doctor told us it was a girl. The first time she held my finger.
And when she does begin to remember, it will come from her own eyes, and her own world view. That’s a beautiful thing, but something that is solely hers. I don’t know how to share those moments with her. Maybe time will teach me, or maybe I’ll always be an outsider, but regardless of the outcome the fact still remains.
Through this series of moments, I am just a flicker.Â But the sun set was beautiful.