Life Is Not a Dress Rehearsal
In my last post, I talked about my father, and how my thirteen year old sister told me he was missing via AIM.
I will never forget that night. I was two months into my sophomore year of college and sitting in my dorm room, the night sky dark outside my window. Suddenly an AIM message popped up from BB. It read: "I CAN'T STOP CRYING." Immediately my mind raced. Had our family dog, Coco been hit by a car? Had he run away? Had Coco died?
The next message from my sister blew my world apart. It said: "DAD IS MISSING." I found out from BB and my mom that police had come because my father's car was found in the parking lot of his favorite hiking spot after the park had closed. I got on a bus the next morning to make the journey home. In trying to keep hope alive, I purposely did not pack black clothes- funeral clothes. It took two agonizing days to find my father's body. The search involved police, search and rescue teams, dog teams and a whole slew of other organizations I can't remember. It rained hard on the first day and the search had to be called off early. My mom, BB and I piled into my parents bed to sleep together at night to be close. I remember thinking that if my father were alive, that he was out there alone in the rain and the cold, and my heart broke. I ended up needing friends to pack and bring down black clothes for his funeral.
My father was far from perfect, but he embraced life. He was adventurous, introspective, and an avid nature lover. His children were his life and a way for him to enjoy the childhood he wished he had. See below for my father carving a pumpkin for Halloween (Yes, that is my thumb, in the corner. Remember old school printed photos?) My father's passing made me truly grasp the importance of appreciating the moments, and the people, that make up our lives.
He chose to work less and live more and wanted our lives to be better than his. Those things gave me comfort when he died at the age of 56. There are countless moments that are crystallized in my memory following my father's passing, but I'm going to focus on just a few. I remember returning to my dorm two weeks later and finding a half-eaten jar of peanut butter I had bought and thinking- how can a fucking jar of peanut butter still be here when my father isn't? It's the small things that can break your heart. Several months later, during final exams and after studying for hours in the library, I went outside for a break. This campus library sits atop a hill and I had a good view of the town and trees below and the vast sky above. I'll never forget how small I felt in that moment and how much comfort I drew from that. As trite as it sounds, my smallness confirmed life would go on. The universe would continue.
Oddly enough, when I was home for fall break three weeks before my father passed away, we talked about our beliefs in God and the afterlife. We both agreed that we didn't know what, if anything came after death, but agreed that the life we were given was the only certainty. Essentially, this life is the show, not a dress rehearsal.
With time, my acute appreciation for how my father chose to live his life receded. Perhaps more accurately, it warred with my ambitions and notions of how "success" is defined in our society. My cancer diagnosis was a much needed clarifying moment- a metaphorical slap in the face, to remind myself of what I had learned when I was 19 years old. THIS LIFE IS NOT A DRESS REHEARSAL and I don't intend to wait to live the life I want. I also recognize that even with a cancer diagnosis, I will still have to fight to redefine what I consider success, but I'm willing to battle that to do my best to enjoy the now.
I will never forget that night. I was two months into my sophomore year of college and sitting in my dorm room, the night sky dark outside my window. Suddenly an AIM message popped up from BB. It read: "I CAN'T STOP CRYING." Immediately my mind raced. Had our family dog, Coco been hit by a car? Had he run away? Had Coco died?
The next message from my sister blew my world apart. It said: "DAD IS MISSING." I found out from BB and my mom that police had come because my father's car was found in the parking lot of his favorite hiking spot after the park had closed. I got on a bus the next morning to make the journey home. In trying to keep hope alive, I purposely did not pack black clothes- funeral clothes. It took two agonizing days to find my father's body. The search involved police, search and rescue teams, dog teams and a whole slew of other organizations I can't remember. It rained hard on the first day and the search had to be called off early. My mom, BB and I piled into my parents bed to sleep together at night to be close. I remember thinking that if my father were alive, that he was out there alone in the rain and the cold, and my heart broke. I ended up needing friends to pack and bring down black clothes for his funeral.
My father was far from perfect, but he embraced life. He was adventurous, introspective, and an avid nature lover. His children were his life and a way for him to enjoy the childhood he wished he had. See below for my father carving a pumpkin for Halloween (Yes, that is my thumb, in the corner. Remember old school printed photos?) My father's passing made me truly grasp the importance of appreciating the moments, and the people, that make up our lives.
He chose to work less and live more and wanted our lives to be better than his. Those things gave me comfort when he died at the age of 56. There are countless moments that are crystallized in my memory following my father's passing, but I'm going to focus on just a few. I remember returning to my dorm two weeks later and finding a half-eaten jar of peanut butter I had bought and thinking- how can a fucking jar of peanut butter still be here when my father isn't? It's the small things that can break your heart. Several months later, during final exams and after studying for hours in the library, I went outside for a break. This campus library sits atop a hill and I had a good view of the town and trees below and the vast sky above. I'll never forget how small I felt in that moment and how much comfort I drew from that. As trite as it sounds, my smallness confirmed life would go on. The universe would continue.
Oddly enough, when I was home for fall break three weeks before my father passed away, we talked about our beliefs in God and the afterlife. We both agreed that we didn't know what, if anything came after death, but agreed that the life we were given was the only certainty. Essentially, this life is the show, not a dress rehearsal.
With time, my acute appreciation for how my father chose to live his life receded. Perhaps more accurately, it warred with my ambitions and notions of how "success" is defined in our society. My cancer diagnosis was a much needed clarifying moment- a metaphorical slap in the face, to remind myself of what I had learned when I was 19 years old. THIS LIFE IS NOT A DRESS REHEARSAL and I don't intend to wait to live the life I want. I also recognize that even with a cancer diagnosis, I will still have to fight to redefine what I consider success, but I'm willing to battle that to do my best to enjoy the now.
Nothing beats dad wisdom. I see where you get all your facial expressions, energy and charisma. Love and definitely agree with this post. You only get one life.... now to figure out what your heart desires....
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