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A few years ago I read Tuck Everlasting with my middle school students and had them brainstorm a momento mori phrase we could write and put next to the clock by the door, as a reminder that both death was coming and that the more they wished time would go by for class to be over, the more their very lives passed them by. We did a little poll, one phrase won, and I put it up on posterboard by the clock. Only thing is, I can’t remember the phrase. How I wish I could. But time wears away at us all and robs us of the little things, these little memories that make us ourselves, until we exit life as the same tabula rasa we were at birth. Like waves slipping in, and out, leaving nothing but smooth sand left in their wake; a half memory of what used to be, as the cycle of life and tine churns ever on.