This post pays a small tribute to an author whom I admire and have an immense respect for.
Life puts us on paths that we don’t always control; the choices we make, and the consequences of our actions take us to different results, some are good, some are less good, as we keep moving forward, breathing, thinking, simply living. We wake up every day wondering what our purpose is. We sometimes hate what we do, and we try to change, because we think we can be better than what we already are. We don’t always understand what brought us here, and why our guardian angel watches over us in dull moments of inattention and pure carelessness. We can’t decide when our time has come, unless we go for the easy way. We fight, we cry, we struggle, always searching for an exit, as small as it may be, that can take us closer to a peaceful ending.
Death. Horrible, painful, the loss of loved ones never really makes sense. Our heart bleeds as we try to rationalize something that we’re all aware of. It’s the ultimate way out, the one way ticket to another world. It takes years to soothe the heartache, as pain relentlessly lingers in every memory that comes to mind.
I am fortunate enough not to know too much about death. I remember losing my grandmother when I was 8, and when my family attended the funeral, I cried, because everybody cried. I felt sad, even if I did not really miss my grandma. I knew deep inside that even gone, she would always be there, watching over me.
I felt an immense sense of abandonment when I lost my cat. I was 16. My heart still hurts when I remember him. I think that I am more sad now than I was 12 years ago. I didn’t cry when I lost my other German grandma. She was ill, and it made sense to me that her living caused too much suffering. I was 20 when she passed.
I feared of losing my father when he underwent bypass heart surgery. I did not really think of losing him because he was my dad; I was more afraid of fighting over the estate with my half-siblings whom I knew would not spare my mother. I dreaded being responsible for my mother’s sake and taking care of everything in her life, because I just love her too much. I was 21, or 22, I can’t exactly remember. I never thought my father would pass. I had faith that everything would be ok. When we heard that the surgery was successful, I felt immense relief taking me over. I was fine. We were all fine.
My father suffers from type 2 diabetes. As part of his rehab treatment, he got daily insulin injections administered at home. The male nurse who one day came to give him his shot accidentally delivered ten times the normal dosage my father needed. I felt my world collapse around me, as I thought: this was a lethal injection. My father will die. And for the first time in weeks, I cried. Thank God, the nurse quickly realized his mistake and immediately sent my dad to the nearest hospital. My father was fine in the end. He actually got to eat tons of jelly for 24 hours.
The more I grow, the more I dread losing my father and my mother. I became more attached to them as I moved away and they accompanied me every step of the way, supporting me through my relationship and my divorce, giving me enough strength to keep going and to “never drop the ball”.
I read about death and I felt the sorrow one could experience when losing a loved one. It is something I never want to feel, yet, I know it will come my way. I will have to face it, take it and cry my heart out, while always running to score my touchdown, the ball in my hand, my lungs exploding in my chest, as I will sprint for the end zone, never looking back, never regretting anything, remembering all the love, and only the love.
Life is too short to waste time on bullshit. This is to you, to your beautiful words and all the pain that you’ve experienced when losing your dad. Never drop the ball. Stay strong in moments of weakness and always look up high. Your future will be bright, even if you don’t know it yet.
The Manicheans 