The scabs
have festered too long. Left to rot and heal over, layers of flesh have grown
too thick and left them too thick to be remembered. How much sadness have I swallowed
without acknowledging? At first guess I’d say close to a decade’s worth of misery
has been stuffed away with little more than passing recognition. Too strong for
too long. I used to think I was worn out and exhausted from all the passion I’d
invested in things that came to naught; a shell of my former self, hollow and
broken from too much emotional expenditure. Within the last couple of weeks, a
myriad of soul searching and introspection has left me to conclude that I’ve
perverted my strength into something it was never meant to be.
I fashioned myself into a paragon of emotional
strength and stability, convinced that I had to be able to stand strong for
those around me, the beacon on the horizon. I forged myself into something
almost perverse, a cold and understanding being that understood better than he
felt. While the de facto explanation for so long has been that I ended up this
way because of “The Long Saga”, it began well before that. I saw an escape and
devoted myself to it, to ridding myself of demons and too many horrors by devoting
myself to something better. That dynamic began to rot and eventually turned to
poison, but I kept drinking from that well, gulping down as much as I could,
subconsciously aware that it beat what I was really running from.
Of course it ended and so it goes, but I didn’t
really deal with it. I swallowed hard and kept trudging on. I lost my best friend;
I distanced myself from everyone and everything and just offered up the excuse
that I was hurt. But it was still me ignoring what was really going on. I
rejected feeling anything because to embrace that pain meant facing everything
else I’ve worked so hard to ignore. And it worked well enough, for a while. I
poisoned the well of another relationship, knowing it couldn’t work because of
how numb I’d become. Now I’m feeling even more drained than before but also
more awake, more aware. I’ve spent the last few months watching my father
teeter between life and death. His pallor a stark ivory in place of the usual
shade I’d grown up with. Long gone are the days of believing him to be
invincible, all but forgotten are the hallowed token of hero worship; believing
my father a hero in his own right. I see pain, and misery, and suffering, and
agony in his face. His entire existence is anguish and torturous agony. Every breath
comes with a cost; every movement bears a price tag. No person should endure
such unending and unyielding torment. It’s an odd thing to be in a position
where you almost wish someone you care about so unflinchingly to be gone from
because of the nightmare they endure just to be there for you another day. To recognize
the sacrifice…it makes me feel like such a weak and feeble man. He experiences
so much more discomfort than I could ever know or articulate and does so much
to maintain the brave face, to remain stoic and resolute, to keep the armor
from showing cracks of any kind all so that he can keep us from feeling bad or
guilty. I used to think myself one of the most selfless people on this planet,
but sacrifices like that…I’m speechless.
Our parents try to set the example, to be the role
model to which they hope we will aspire. We grow up becoming amalgams of them
and persist toward the horizon, hoping to perpetuate the best qualities we’ve
learned and do justice to the reverence we hold for them. The best our
forebears can hope for is that we do something to make the world a better
place, the best most of them get is a guilty indulgence of pride in our
accomplishments. We live our lives working tirelessly to earn their approval,
to make them proud, but more than anything to know we’re loved. Unconditional love
is something only a parent can offer their children, and it makes it one of the
most beautiful and powerful things in existence but is too often taken for
granted. It took me watching my father go a little further into the twilight
with each passing day; standing idly by while the march of time remains
relentless and unyielding as he is carried with it toward his horizon, for me
to finally come to terms with the things I’d held onto for too many years. Knowing
and facing the reality that he would one day be gone, that our time here is
finite, that we are not guaranteed how much time we have here, it’s a sobering
realization, perhaps more so than anything else. None of us like to face our
own mortality. We cling to the past like a favorite blanket, willing the better
days of yore to be something tangible and static.
When we’re kids we can’t wait to grow up. We spend
every waking moment yearning for the day when we have the freedom to do what we
choose, unfettered by the judgment or stares of a disapproving or admonition
parent, and all too soon we reach that point. We come hurtling into adulthood
at terminal velocity and by the time we think to apply the brake we’ve let
adolescence pass like a blip on the radar and we’re barely able to recall it. And
now more than ever, with the fast paced world we live in, we take so much for
granted, we offer true appreciation to so little. We ignore the little
miracles. My great grandparents married when my great-grandmother was fifteen
and remained faithfully married their entire lives. A commitment like that is
something rare and disregarded today amid so much superficiality. My own
parents have endured so many unimaginable hardships and remained committed and
maintained conviction to the ideal of something bigger than each other. I’m in
the midst of purging this reservoir and in so doing I’m making a point to offer
thanks. Thanks to my father for the example he sets in doing what needs to be
done for the happiness of others, thanks to my great-grandparents for proving
that true love does exist and it is a wonderful and beautiful thing. Time is a
manmade construct, but we can’t just give ourselves more. I know several of you
don’t speak to your parents often or enough, but please, if I can impart
anything at all from this forum, take this away, don’t waste another day,
another hour, another minute, or even another second. We never know when someone
will leave our lives or when they’ll be taken from us in other ways. A grandparent
that one day might not recognize you, a parent that is taken suddenly and
unexpectedly, a friend that disappears far too suddenly. The people that lift
us up, that keep us safe, that make us better people are so rare, so valuable
and sadly, so underappreciated. Express thanks. Show your gratitude to your
loved ones for the light they bring into your life, they may not be here
tomorrow.
