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(n) A sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.
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I recently had this feeling — which I never had; not maybe never recognized — when helping to care for a newborn. When he’s 20, I’ll be 90. When he’s 40, I’d be 120. Unless there is a “miracle of modern medicine”, I won’t be around to see how he makes out. Will he thrice or even survive?
It’s like reading a mystery novel and losing it before you find out who done it.
I think there were a MASH and a HIMYM episode, each like this.
Frustrating, but nothing that can be done about it.
Maybe “we” should invent a “reverse time capsule”?
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