• Skip to primary navigation
  • Skip to main content
  • Skip to primary sidebar
  • Skip to footer
  • About
  • Contact
  • Blog
  • San Diego Momma
  • Nav Social Menu

    • Email
    • Facebook
    • Instagram
    • Pinterest
    • Twitter
San Diego Momma

San Diego Momma

Sharing some humor, a bit of writing and way too much information

Home / Etcetera / Because Life is Short and I Get It Now

Because Life is Short and I Get It Now

Etcetera

I’m re-posting this for so very many reasons, not the least of which is I’ve come face to face with the idea that a lifetime doesn’t last forever, it just doesn’t. And that’s OK. But it’s sublime, too. In October of last year, my dad made it to the ER just in time to address a heart situation that was dire and deathly. So…I think:

 


“Do you think of your life?”

 

I couldn’t ask, because we don’t talk that way. But I watched his eyes squint from my peripheral vision.

 

“Do you think of your life, Dad?” The words seeps from my fingers instead. It’s the only way to get them down. It’s not something I say out loud.

 

It used to be we couldn’t talk that way simply because he wasn’t home much. A business trip, a move, a plan of some sort. He felt best in motion; most alive I supposed. Less likely to think about…death? Whatever it was, he couldn’t sit still. I began to imagine that if he sat immobile for any length of time, he’d fade away, slip through life.

 

He sits more now, and I pretend not to notice.

 

He calls weekly with news of a death in the family, a cancer, a sudden illness. My Uncle Smitty choked during lunch, suffered cardiac arrest, and died a week later. He wasn’t much younger than my dad; we send condolences and flowers and wonder:

 

“Do you think of your life, Dad?”

 

His best friend heard from the oncologist. The lung cancer howls from a safe distance. Today, he’s OK. I look through mustard yellow photo albums; he and my dad lounge against one of the cars of the day, smoking, laughing, living.

 

I don’t think I want the photos from now; the needles in the arm, the shadows in the eyes.

 

My dad lives with my step-mom in a condo complex filled with old people. He became president of the condo association because everyone kept dying, and they couldn’t keep anyone in office for long. He laughs when he says this; always a joke on his lips, a pretend heart attack for laughs, a brush-off of imminent death.

 

During a recent joke, a darkness flits across his face, a temporary jolt, a pause in the laughter, a realization he wishes I don’t see.

 

So we watch TV. His old friends are gone: Jackie Gleason, Bob Hope, John Wayne, but there’s a show on PBS about country music.

 

Even his beloved Kenny Rogers looks different.

 

He falls asleep in the recliner, a comforting image from my childhood, when his loud snoring assured me he was home.

 

In between business trips, my dad reluctantly visited the doctors my mom made him see. In the days and hours before his appointments, he yelled and resisted and teased, “If I’m going to die, I don’t want to know it.”

 

But there was the diabetes and the high blood pressure; the ulcers and the dangerous cholesterol. The chicken-fried steak for breakfast and the homemade french fries for dinner, the forgetting to take his pills and the zig-zag blood sugar dips.

 

My healthy mom died before he did.

 

I don’t know if that’s what causes his shadows.

 

Last year, he began sending his children stories. Long-forgotten and unspoken. Our lineage, our hometown in Norway, great-grandma Josie’s predilection for liquor. One email, titled simply “Mom and I” recounted the story of how they met in such vivid detail I read through tears. It began:

 

Hi Guys,

Seeing as I am on a roll, I thought you guys might like to hear how Mom and I met and moved into marriage. This is a tough one…

 

I wonder what it was like for him to write.

 

Last month, my dad returned from his childhood home in Sparta, Wisconsin. My step-mom’s sister-in-law passed away a month earlier and her house needed to be cleared out. No one in the family was much alive to complete the job. He and my step-mom spent three weeks sorting and cataloging and dumping. They managed to see some of their high school friends while in town and my dad called me on the way home, melancholy.

 

“Not many of us are healthy anymore” he told me.

 

I knew better than to respond. He doesn’t talk that way too much, and I opened my heart to give his words some space.

 

A beat, not even a minute later, and he began to joke again; but I’d glimpsed the shadow.

 

I thought of all this the other day when I watched a movie that took place in the 70s. The soundtrack evoked that first stingpunch of summer love, the must of the gymnasium during P.E., the cloudiness of marshmallow fluff. My soul alternated between flying and crying. So many days, so many days…turning into…another kind of day. A year, a decade, a mustard yellow photo album.

 

Or the dry bite of bread pudding every day for a year when money grew tight, the dark smudge of newspaper ink smeared on fingers picking up news of World War 11, the phantom ache of a sister plucked by cancer in the middle of the night.

 

A million things like that, singular and collective; each of us alone, each of us the same with the thought, with the letters, with the shadows. My dad’s unmouthed questions are mine now and on it will go. One day my daughter may write them like me and on it will go. On and on and on.

 

But today the words sear into my gut:

 

Do you think of your life?

 

Share this:

  • Twitter
  • Facebook

March 29, 2012 · 18 Comments

Sure I’d love to see you again

Previous Post: « PROMPTuesday #187: Stolen/Found
Next Post: When a Business Partner is Also a Friend: Why it Could Work »

Reader Interactions

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Comments

  1. Becky says

    March 29, 2012 at 10:31 pm

    Oh, Deb. you break me in such beautiful ways.

    Reply
  2. Green Girl in Wisconsin says

    March 30, 2012 at 6:04 am

    Ah, that breaks my heart. I hope he thought only of joy and no regret.

    Reply
  3. julie gardner says

    March 30, 2012 at 10:09 am

    So I’m going to share this with you even though it completely freaks me out; but what good is all this reading and writing and thinking if we aren’t being honest, right?

    Anyway.

    I have always thought ahead about big stuff coming up in my life. Good things, bad things, exciting or scary.

    I would consciously think about the future and tell myself, “There will be a moment where you will actually be______” – let’s say running a marathon or giving birth or something much smaller like giving a speech or whatever.
    Then I’d further tell myself, “Try to remember when you’re in that moment what it felt like to be back here thinking about it.”

    Weird right? Maybe. Yeah. I guess it’s part of my wanting to be present and purposeful and in the moment but also not.

    Anyway these “future” moments always come up more quickly than I think they will. Nine months and boom. I’m having the baby. Four months and boom. I’m in the middle of the race. How did the time fly between the thinking and the doing? Is there some kind of collapse in the universe? I don’t know.

    So the other night – out of nowhere – it occurred to me that at some point, I’d be dying. It would actually be happening.

    And then I realized that the time between now and then would – at some point – be gone. Fleeting. Like a blink.

    I am so not okay with death. Like, at all.
    So how can I slow this whole shit down?
    Tell me.

    Reply
  4. Galit Breen says

    March 30, 2012 at 6:24 pm

    Oh my, Deb- this is stunning and heart breaking and all of the good things in between.

    This line “I opened my heart to give his words some space” slays me.

    xo

    Reply
  5. Kerstin says

    March 30, 2012 at 7:08 pm

    How very captivating. Makes my heart ache. Makes me think of so many people that loved their life and lost it way too soon. Good friends, mentors, snatched away in their 50s, just like that.
    Every once in a while I think about my own mortality and I really don’t know how to handle it. Not for myself, but for those I leave behind. Did I prepare everything? Will they find all the papers and know what to do? Will my kids be alright?
    I quickly try to think of something else, because I just don’t have any answers. I hope I don’t need any, because I’ll live long enough to see my kids grow and build their own lives and nothing else will matter.
    Then I think of a few dear people I have lost and it just kills me that they’re gone. There is just nothing you can do. Except cherish the memories, the moment.
    My biggest fear – having regrets.

    Reply
  6. OpinionsToGo says

    March 30, 2012 at 7:22 pm

    Your post brought back so many memories of my dad. He used to call me when an actor passed away…an actor from the 40’s 0r 50’s and say “Jo, We lost another one!”
    He read 3 newspapers a day and was a master of trivia. I hate to brag but, I have now assumed his role…He would love that!
    Yes, I think about life…every day!

    Reply
  7. Jennifer says

    March 31, 2012 at 4:00 am

    Beautiful and true.

    Reply
  8. heidi says

    April 1, 2012 at 2:54 pm

    I’m speechless here. This is moving and true and soulful.

    Reply
  9. San Diego Momma says

    April 2, 2012 at 8:18 am

    Thank you for these lovely lovely comments. And Julie? I do the same thing. To a T. Fun fact: I remember always wondering where I’d be when it turned 2000, like how old I’d be and what I might be doing. From the time I was a kid I did it. “I’ll be 31 in 2000, I’ll be 31 in 2000…”

    2000 was twelve years ago. It came and went and now I’m zipping to 50. If I knew how to slow it down, I’d give you my secret. All we can do is be present.

    XO.

    Reply
  10. Vista Family Dentist says

    April 4, 2012 at 8:52 pm

    I do, but same as most I think of it fleetingly. I know how important it is to sit and reflect, but at the back of my head I know the implications afterwards would be to face it and act accordingly.

    Reply
  11. Colleen Lanin says

    April 28, 2012 at 7:37 am

    Gorgeous writing. I would love to read the email your dad sent about how he met and married your mom.

    Reply
  12. Danielle says

    April 28, 2012 at 9:02 am

    What a great post. While I analyze and think of my life often I haven’t thought of the lives of my parents and grandparents much over the years. Thank you for your beautiful writing.

    Reply
  13. Sondra says

    April 28, 2012 at 2:01 pm

    Tears. You have me in tears and this is beautiful and touching and perfect.

    Reply
  14. Carolyn West says

    April 28, 2012 at 2:09 pm

    Wow. I’ve been thinking about death a lot lately. When I was pregnant with my first daughter 13 years ago I found myself going to funerals every month. A generation was dying out, literally. We’ve had a good run these past many years but now I’ve started thinking about the old timers that are still around. They are in their 80’s now and who knows how much longer they will be here. It won’t be long until I am part of the older generation. It’s definitely sobering.

    Reply
  15. Mary @ The World Is A Book says

    April 28, 2012 at 9:40 pm

    What a wonderful and beautiful post! It was heartbreaking to read this. It brought back a lot of memories of loved ones lost along the way. It’s also a great reminder to enjoy what we have and not take things for granted.

    Reply
  16. Joann Woolley says

    April 29, 2012 at 1:12 am

    Was worthy of a re post. I remember reading it the first time. I hope your dad is doing well Deb.

    Reply
  17. becky says

    April 29, 2012 at 8:09 am

    The thought of losing my dad leaves me paralyzed in fear. I so want my kids to grow up knowing him. But he’s 70 and you never know how much time is left. I wish we lived closer.

    Reply
  18. maggie may says

    April 29, 2012 at 12:09 pm

    this is a beautiful essay. thank you for sharing it with us.

    Reply

Primary Sidebar

I love words. Every one, every time. (Except “moist.” That word can go.) …read more

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Twitter

Sure. I’d love to see you again.

Categories

Archives

Blogroll

  • Blog This Mom
  • Da Goddess
  • Dirt and Noise
  • Discover San Diego
  • Foolery
  • Juggling Life
  • Mama Mary Show
  • Mel, A Dramatic Mommy
  • Mom Zombie
  • Mommy’s Martini
  • Motherhood is Not for Wimps
San Diego Momma

Footer

Archives

  • Email
  • Facebook
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Twitter

Categories

sandiegomomma

sandiegomomma
Back in Lake Geneva after 36 years… Circumstance Back in Lake Geneva after 36 years…
Circumstances have changed since post-Prom-picnic-circa-1986-vibes…
#WhereIsBryanAdamsNow
Dorm drop! 🏫👩‍🏫🥲💕 Dorm drop!
🏫👩‍🏫🥲💕
💫Travel poster for Saturday wine tasting.💫 💫Travel poster for Saturday wine tasting.💫
Celebrating the new 16-year-old with a quick Santa Celebrating the new 16-year-old with a quick Santa Monica trip.
And now she knows she doesn’t want to live in LA….
#LifeLessons
It’s happening….. It’s happening…..
Barely tolerating me….. Barely tolerating me…..
Beach day with my “little” one while big sis e Beach day with my “little” one while big sis explores Cal Poly…
Life transitions. Beautiful but I haz the olds.
#NotAboutMe #Whhhhyyyyy
A rare Bubbie sighting. Spotted in the wild. #HeDo A rare Bubbie sighting. Spotted in the wild. #HeDoesntLikePictures
Sunset squad. Brought a picnic and drinks to Del M Sunset squad.
Brought a picnic and drinks to Del Mar and watched the waves and horizon. Not too crowded or cold - another good hang with the neighborhood gang! ❤️❤️
Imprinting 2021 holidays on my brain (and in my In Imprinting 2021 holidays on my brain (and in my Instagram) (and in my antibodies). It’s a COVID New Year’s Eve…
Husband and I down for the count(down).
BUT. We’re doing decent and it’s cozy up in here…
Winery times! Winery times!
Guys on couch watching football; girls in kitchen Guys on couch watching football; girls in kitchen talking about everything.
Smells like a Sunday neighbor night. ;)
Line dancing lessons… My two left feet did nothi Line dancing lessons…
My two left feet did nothing right - but they did it with gusto.
Looking for a new book to read! #BookClub Despite Looking for a new book to read! #BookClub Despite the seeming divine intervention from above, we weren’t struck with the “perfect” next book to put on our list…..
Post-white-water-rafting super exhaustion. (Oh my Post-white-water-rafting super exhaustion.
(Oh my gosh you guys…! No! I’m not a sports model! But I totally understand how you might think so.) 😜😜😜
I wanted my hair to do that. #NordicSisters I wanted my hair to do that.
#NordicSisters
Dad’s hats on the people who loved/knew/laughed/ Dad’s hats on the people who loved/knew/laughed/sang with him.
Miss you Dad. Hope we do your hats justice. Lord knows we’ll have fun in them, just like you did. 😇
Paso Robles! Wine tasting beauty. It’s stunning Paso Robles! Wine tasting beauty. It’s stunning here. And the landscape is nice too ;).
Found my brother’s old ad copy. Good fun-writing Found my brother’s old ad copy. Good fun-writing inspiration...
Just in case I wasn’t feeling ancient enough, th Just in case I wasn’t feeling ancient enough, the rainbow jumper and white bobby socks oughta do it. No but wait! There’s a bowl cut. Annnnnnnddd giant gold-rimmed specs.
#CentennialFashion
Load More... Follow on Instagram
  • About
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy

Copyright © 2023 · Hello Chicky

We use cookies on our website to give you the most relevant experience by remembering your preferences and repeat visits. By clicking “Accept”, you consent to the use of ALL the cookies.
Do not sell my personal information.
Cookie settingsACCEPT
Privacy & Cookies Policy

Privacy Overview

This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these cookies, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may have an effect on your browsing experience.
Necessary
Always Enabled
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. This category only includes cookies that ensures basic functionalities and security features of the website. These cookies do not store any personal information.
Non-necessary
Any cookies that may not be particularly necessary for the website to function and is used specifically to collect user personal data via analytics, ads, other embedded contents are termed as non-necessary cookies. It is mandatory to procure user consent prior to running these cookies on your website.
SAVE & ACCEPT