My old familiar alarm clock died tonight, it seems. The loss was sudden and unexpected. I did not quite realize how much symbolism and meaning was intertwined into it's cheap mass-produced innards, until it was too late.
This particular clock talked. It had a slightly warm, approachable robotic tone that read off the hours and minutes - the fabric of our lives - in crisp and concise increments.
It was a present from my Paternal grandmother, when she got one and loved it. She was blind, you see, and so needed a talking clock.
It was a blessing to start each of my days with the instant reminder that there was someone out there who loved me, and who was blind, and definitely had larger issues than me. It is an order of magnitude harder to get upset about having to go into work an hour early when the voice that lifts yu from sweet reveries also reminds yu that a loved one is blind and cannot enjoy any of the sights I will see that day. No trees, no jokes, no children, no change. So shut up and get into the shower.
It also reminds me that I have the same genes as her, same disposition to bad eyes. It was a reminder that there are elements of my life that I cannot control, although possibly predict, and to bear appropriate humility through all my endeavors. I might go blind as well one day, without the luck of genetics or the mercies of american insured medical techniques. There but for the grace of god, go I.
And today that clock, my internal, digital conscience, ceased it's insightful beeps.
I cannot help but fear it is an omen for the woman whom it represents.