I write monologues in my
head that have yet to bleed on a page. There’s never enough time, enough
energy, enough inspiration, enough desire…there’s just never enough—
Writing has always been
my go-to in my darkest hour, and somehow night came some time ago and the light
has fought to find it’s way in. And when it does, I close the door. So tonight,
whether I have anything to say or not, I decided to write and just let whatever
come out.
The day and week have had
me meditating on time and space. The distance between two lovers in a home,
friends across phone lines or cyberspace, families only miles apart but years
away, from the moon and back, and eternity in between. For some reason, we go
through our lives thinking there will always be enough time, and there will
never be someone too far away from us that we won’t see or talk to them. And
then life goes by, and, before we know it, we no longer think of the person. We
get too busy with our lives to remember those all around us. We get so stuck in
our own rut that we refuse to reach out and ask for a lifeline. And so,
darkness ensues, as it has for many. I don’t exclude myself from that idea.
Today marks the five-year
anniversary of mom’s death, and so, I guess that’s what made me start thinking
about this idea of time and space. People have often told me, “At least you
were able to prepare yourself since she was sick. It’s not like it happened out
the blue.”
Is there really a way to prepare for death and the
loss of someone instrumental in your shaping?
Maybe there is no preparing; maybe it just is.
Maybe the days and nights
of watching someone be tormented by pain is more devastating than losing
someone suddenly. I don’t know really. I’ve been in both situations, and the
difference for me was the bond shared. I’ve had high school friends or military
friends commit suicide, and it was a bit of a shock that left me briefly in a
slumber, and I’ve had family members I’ve watched languish for weeks and months
and felt the pain so deeply that it still bothers me five and ten years later.
I don’t really think one
can prepare for the death of another. We say it all the time, as I said. But my
question is this: if we were truly prepared for someone to die, why would we
struggle with missing them, falling into a depression, isolating ourselves from
other loved ones, drinking, swallowing pills, or giving up on life altogether?
If we were truly prepared, we’d feel and live none of those things. We’d hang
on to every breath and minute moving forward. We’d enjoy all that life has to
offer, all the love of those around us so we wouldn’t feel empty when someone
else died. We wouldn’t have an excuse for our bad behavior, our drug addiction,
our alcoholism, our depression, our isolation.
And maybe that’s the real issue. Maybe it’s not that
we prepared or didn’t prepare ourselves.
Maybe it’s just that we need anything or anyone to
blame for the path we have taken in life.
I’m reminded of the adage
in regard to two brothers with an alcoholic father: the man asked the one
brother, “Why are you an alcoholic”? “Because my father was,” he said. The man
asked the other brother, “Why don’t you drink alcohol”? He replied, “Because my
father did.” Both men used the same incident in their lives to build their
futures on. One accepted it as his destiny, and the other proved that he was
not destined to be his father. One allowed the badness to send him down a path
of darkness, and he grew comfortable there, and the other used it to guide his
way into the light.
And really, isn’t that what happens with anything and
everything in life?
That one moment, that one second, can shape our lives.
Maybe it’s the second
your dog died, your child died, your father slipped into your room late at
night, your friend or spouse committed suicide, your parent died, you were
assaulted, you were robbed at gun point, you watched someone die in a mortar
attack, you drove drunk and caused the death of another, you watched someone
die in a plane crash, your child was born, your child graduated, your child got
married, you fell in love for the first time, you became a grandparent, you got
married, you accepted Christ into your life, you got Baptized, you got a new
job, you got an unexpected promotion or raise, you won the lottery, etc. Each
of these moments, good and bad, shape us.
Each moment is miniscule in the scope of life yet
somehow defines our actions for years upon years.
That one second wherein breath stopped is just as instrumental as the one second that breath began.
But for some reason—for some reason—neither seem to
hold the same weight.
