23 March 2006 AD
Recently my Dad died. It’s only been three weeks since I found him dead in his bed; heart and lung failure at 53. Every day that I wake up I have to remind myself what happened and immediately after that I have to remind myself to breathe. “In and out, Naomi, in and out,” I unconsciously say to myself. Everyday I walk about in complete denial of reality. I tell myself that he drove me to school, just like every other day; that people are only feeling sorry for me because I was merely sick for the week of school that I missed when really I was attending my Dad’s funeral. Everyday I force myself to keep going for just one more minute and then I can cry – only I tell myself that same thing every minute. On the good days, I can go nearly a half an hour without thinking about it.
Recently my Dad died. It’s only been three weeks since I found him dead in his bed; heart and lung failure at 53. Every day that I wake up I have to remind myself what happened and immediately after that I have to remind myself to breathe. “In and out, Naomi, in and out,” I unconsciously say to myself. Everyday I walk about in complete denial of reality. I tell myself that he drove me to school, just like every other day; that people are only feeling sorry for me because I was merely sick for the week of school that I missed when really I was attending my Dad’s funeral. Everyday I force myself to keep going for just one more minute and then I can cry – only I tell myself that same thing every minute. On the good days, I can go nearly a half an hour without thinking about it.
Every since the loss of my Dad – my Daddy; Pappy – I have been pondering what really matters in life. I’ve watched countless movies and heard countless speeches about death and life but even still, the purpose of life seems to have vanished from my heart. Before, I was so sure of myself: “I’m here to spread the love of Jesus Christ to all nations.” Now, nothing seems to matter – not even a purpose as righteous as that.
As I said, it has been three weeks since his death and this is all I’ve come up with: be happy. Why couldn’t I have been happier when he was alive? Why couldn’t I have been funnier in his last few months? He was so stressed and so depressed – why did I have to put him through the teen angst of a resentful sixteen year old again – why couldn’t I have gotten over myself and just been happy? He wanted so badly for me to just be me; the ‘me’ I was as a child. “Sadness is easier because its surrender. I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free” (Elizabethtown).
When my Dad was alive in the prime of his health, he was a happy guy; always cracking jokes and making light of bad situations. His favorite thing to do was get on a motorcycle (not his, he never got to have one of his own) and just ride in the wind; like a bird flying free or a unicorn dancing joyously in the fields. He seemed to have a pretty good grasp on life – he knew there was much more to life than just joining in the dance of wealthy businessmen in the sad world of economical struggle.
Fun, laughter, family, and happiness were what he lived for. If I can take anything away from my Dads life it would have to be that happiness is easier than pain; peace is easier than struggle; joy is easier than sorrow. Nobody wants to be around a depressed, angry person all the time. Though this concept may be very abstract to me at the current time, it is all I can come up with as to what matters. What is life with no people to share it with; no witness to our adventures? Furthermore, what is a friendship with no laughter or joy? Happiness, not success or greatness, is what really matters in life – at least right now.