Forever is the Worst Long Time

by Camille Pagán

“Because there’s no such thing as life without heartbreak,” she said, swinging her legs around so she was right side up. The novel fell neatly into her lap. “And just as well. Otherwise none of it would matter.”

It was one of those moments when you feel unbelievably lucky to have been placed on the planet at the same time as the people in your life.

“Being something for someone else is a perfectly good waste of a life, isn’t it?

dark things must be loved secretly, in the space between the soul and the shadows.

And that, I will admit, is a version of history I can’t bear to imagine, as fraught as the following years may have been. But as you know, that’s not where this story ends.

She had high cheekbones and perfect prose, and when she continued to show up at my door, I invited her in because I didn’t understand how hurtful it could be to say yes just because you weren’t sure how to say no.

We had not been close, but I had foolishly believed our relationship would unfold like a novel: discord, yes, but then reconnection, followed by a satisfying conclusion. Instead, our story ended in the middle, and that was that.

A year from then seemed like a distant planet, visible only on rare occasions and in the right light.

In your twenties, it’s easy to think most of your better days are still up ahead. But sometime around the point at which you find yourself in a face-off with forty, time does a peculiar thing and unfolds at once, almost like a map, so that while you can see that you are no longer truly young and you are not yet old, it’s quite clear that you will be very soon—if you’re lucky.

When something comes to you so easily, it may leave that same way, and you’ll be left wondering if it ever was at all.

But that’s a funeral for you; every lost life of your brief existence washes over you anew, with a fresh wave of loss added to that terrible sea of grief.

But we humans aren’t too good at stasis, are we? No—we like to throw a wrench into something the minute it starts running smoothly. We throw ourselves over the ledge reaching for the big, shiny object, when the smaller, duller version would do just fine.

save for a few letters, the difference between love and loss was so slight it was almost impossible to perceive.

“The wonder of life is that almost anything can happen.”

And for just a few seconds, I forgot all about what was next and was able to soak up the good fortune of here and now.

It is so easy to go through your days stewing about someone stealing your parking spot without giving the same attention to your child’s arms around your neck, to grumble about the ever-increasing cost of groceries without realizing just how good it is to have warm toast and a fresh cup of coffee while sitting across from the one you love.

I would appreciate my life more. I would do more and love more in the years that followed. I would finish the things I had started.

I don’t care if lovers swear it to each other and the devout sling it around as a future reward for their faithfulness. As far as I’m concerned, forever is the worst long time. At least with adversity and illness, there’s a general idea of what to expect. We don’t know a damn thing about the uncharted horrors of eternity.

It’s funny, when someone close to you dies, it’s almost impossible not to reflect on your own impending mortality. Death is nothing if not a reminder that no matter how long it may be, life is always too short.

Surely this recollection is somewhat inaccurate, but I suspect that there’s no such thing as absolute truth. Every event is different to those who have lived it, those who have witnessed it, and those who only later read of it.

It’s been said that every good parent wants only for his child to be happy. I want happiness for you, but so much more. I want you to not know the pain that awaits you. I want you to roar back at the things that scare you. I want for you a life that is not just happy, but meaningful. But above all, I want you to embrace the love you find yourself drawn to, whatever that may be. I hope this book will show you that if you can find it in you to push past the fear of loving another person—if you can learn to live with the inevitable loss that comes with doing so—you will know a good and meaningful life.

All I can do is accept that it has woven itself into the fabric of who I am. I could be wrong, but I suspect that the people we are drawn to are the ones we need most, even if we are never able to fully comprehend why.

As much as we crave a concise, linear narrative, life happens as it will, often in a haphazard fashion that feels anything but finished. We must cobble together our most important moments and call them our story.

I know, having myself lost a parent too soon, that being without a father will not be easy for you. But try to remember that loss is an incredible stroke of luck. Yes, luck. For loss carries with it two truths: that you have loved, and that you yourself have had the good fortune to live a little longer. So try not to grieve me too much. But when you do, take down this book and know that my love endures, and I am with you— Always.