The Day Has Come and Gone, and I Am Still Here

Published 7/20/12

            I have quirks and eccentricities, as we all do.  I have never denied or hidden mine, but some I have not acknowledged except to those closest to me.  Herein, I celebrate the passing of one such quirk, or, some might say, phobia.  It has been with me for almost twenty-three years, but it has run its course, expired, is no longer valid or useful.  It is gone, over, finished, and I am done with it.  Well, sort of.  July 11^th marked its end.  On that day, I had been alive on this earth, one day longer than my mother was.  That day has haunted me since she died.

            Losing a parent, or any loved one for that matter, is not an easy thing.  Such an event serves as a glaring reminder of our mortality.  Even if we are familiar with death, due to war, sickness, accident, or any form of demise, the death of a parent signals to us that the previous generation is expiring, and shouts, "Hey, you're next in line." 

            There is no logic to my unusual attachment to the time of my mother's passing.  I am an educated man of some intelligence, although there are those who would argue otherwise, thus it is assumed that I could, or would, reason that my mother's death is uniquely hers, and mine is in no way attached to, or influenced by her passing.  That would be reasonable, but emotions often rule my thinking.    

            It is observed by the family that I favor my mother.  I was slight of build as a child, as was she, fair, not dark like my father, Germanic, not English, aggression from both sides, and the list goes on.  If I favor her in life, why not death?      

            I am attached to her, as well as to my living father who will be 89 this year.  I share twenty-three chromosomes from each.  It is logical and reasonable that I could live to be as old as my father is, or older, but emotion allows me to think that the things that have happened to them, could, or will happen to me.  If we inherit all we are, eye and hair color, stature, intelligence, predilection for diseases, and longevity, why not timeliness of significant life, or death events?

            So it is, that with all this reasoning, whether intellectual, or emotional, that I have both anticipated and dreaded my sixty-fourth year.  It has come and gone now by a month, a week, and several days.  I have overcome the genetic tendency on my mother's side, where the females' lives are notoriously short, and now look forward to becoming an octogenarian…at least.

            What does all this mean?  I don't know.  It isn't logical to think that anyone of us is attached that closely to another, yet, I wonder.  Do we inherit addictive tendencies such as drug and alcohol abuse, or anger as opposed to passivity?  Are those traits inherited, or learned, or some of each?       

            Some have proposed that we inherit fears and attitudes.  In a book by a prominent minister, the story is related of a boy who had an unreasonable fear of school.  He had been a well-adjusted child with normal growth and learning, but when it came time for him to start school, he was terrified beyond the normal fear of going into a new situation.  He could not make it through a day, and often, could not even get to school.

            The parents and teachers, along with counselors and psychiatrists worked for months with no improvement.  All were baffled until one day, the father of the boy was relating to his own father the problem they were having.  The grandfather then told the family of an incident in his early childhood related to a school bully, which caused him great fear until it was resolved.  With this information, the mental health professionals were able to treat the boy who went on to have a successful school experience.  Was this fear of school passed on, skipping a generation, and if so, how?

            I do not know the answers to any of this.  You can see where reason and logic have gotten me.  I am sure that my time here is uniquely mine, and although tied somehow to those who have gone on before me, I cannot add to, nor diminish it by any thought or action on my part.

            I saw a phrase on a t-shirt in the gym long ago.  It read, "Eat right, run far, lift heavy, die anyway."  There is great truth in that comedic effort.  We can prevent some diseases by proper diet and exercise, and by taking care of our bodies, maybe prolong our days, but the message was not concerning quantity of life, it was about quality.

            None of us knows when we are going to depart this world.  I have spent twenty-three years with this nagging little doubt, far back in my mind that I would not live longer than my mother.  I haven't belabored it, or been obsessed with it, but it has been there.  I have learned one thing from this that we all already know, and that is that any day, any moment, could be our last.  That, combined with the saying on the t-shirt, have made me realize that it is the quality of our days, not the quantity, that we should focus on, and that I should live every day as if it were my last by pouring everything I can into it. 

            That sure puts the twenty games of Solitaire I played before, and during the writing of this piece in a different light, doesn't it?  Live on, and live well, for life is before you, not behind.