It’s been seven years since Dad passed away. Seven. It’s an amount of time that feels as though his death should be sufficiently in the past to no longer think about. But I think of him and the events around receiving the news today.
It catalyzed many changes—for me and those with me that day—and it forced me to move through a portal of life we all must eventually.
Death is guaranteed. We may wish to avoid it. One day, it may merely caress our cheek as it drifts past in a near miss. Like a stranger’s unwelcome touch, it leaves us cold. Or, we may experience death second-hand in the condolences expressed to survivors. We shiver off the dread hoping our next encounter is far in the future.
Then, a phone call interrupts a dinner with friends. It comes with life-altering news. Or a random text bears the finality of death:
“He’s gone. Call me.”
Perhaps distraction or alcohol will put us in the crosshairs of an oncoming vehicle. Death doesn’t mind who’s at fault. He’s there for whoever comes—cancer, heart attack, aneurysm, fire, a fall, bullet wound. The realities are endless despite our wish for a quiet passing at home. Few among us will live out the full days of our years.
Full days. And years.
I rise, expecting a full day and week ahead, though I feel my years slip by with mounting urgency. I think about the weighty passage of birthdays and anniversaries yet miss passing days of opportunity. No person rises knowing they have hours to live. Yet most would say that if they did have foreknowledge of their death, how differently they would meet the day to wring out their existential gift.
If I drive through life glancing in the rearview, perhaps I miss what is oncoming, what veers into my lane as friend or foe. As I shake off grief once again, I look to the unwelcome gift that death left and embrace its meaning in my life. I lift my eyes, ready to unwrap the day.
There’s a reason the windshield is bigger than the rearview mirror. ~ Unknown
Thank you for this poignant, powerful read. "I lift my eyes, ready to unwrap the day," so brilliant! Keep writing, I love your words.
Thank you Linda for yet another heart felt precious, piece of prose that always feels more like poetry. Such a gift you have…