Weeks pass by in the flash of an eye. There is such order to what we do now, that we become enslaved to the routine so that on Monday you do Monday things, on Tuesday, Tuesday things, and so on, until before you know it, you’re back doing Monday things again.
And when you consider that you’re lying down flat with no memory of a third of every week, it is no wonder that they add up and move along and are hurriedly consigned to the past.
One thousand weeks is a long time. In our lifetime, we might get an average of 3,500 weeks to live and breathe. So a third of that is substantial.
It is hard to believe that 1,000 weeks have passed since Padraic Joyce rounded the Kildare goalkeepr and sent the ball to the net in that final against Kildare. It was a moment that symbolised so much for this city and county. That quick movement of thought and judgment; that juxtaposition of timing and skill, and what it released in so many that day will never be forgotten.
And yes, it happened 1,000 weeks ago.
I am thinking of time a lot this week. It’s 30 years since my own dad died suddenly. I was a student in the city, living for a few months in a bedsit in that house with the well in the front garden, just a few doors up from the school at Moneenageisha. The words that were said to me I will never forget, and yet now, 1,500 weeks later, they seem like they just happened yesterday.
I am touched too by the words of my writing colleague Ray Silke who spoke of the surreal feeling he had when he led out his teammates again at the celebration of the 20 years since that memorable All-Ireland success.
He wrote that when they gathered there, all mature men now, with lives and families and things well beyond football, they wondered why they had not done this before. And more often.
Ray wrote — “Often in life, we are too busy hurtling forward to our next adventure or our next work, sporting, or family commitment, rather than taking a day or two to look back at achievements from the past and reflect on good days that were had with friends, family, and teammates. Sometimes it is better to have great memories, than great dreams.”
Perhaps there is a lesson in this for all of us. Perhaps we wait too long to say I’ll make the time and go for a cup of coffee or a sandwich with so and so.
I was but a student when my father died, but what I would give to have a chat and a drink with him now, to tell him how the world has moved on, and to see and hear his reactions.
If we wait for the right time, we might wait forever.
If you have a friend that you’ve been telling yourself for some time you will contact, pick up that phone, pen a letter, send a message.
It was Henry James who wrote that the right time is any time that we are lucky to have. Avail of it, before more weeks fly by.