Struggle transforms

It seems that things often work out, for a reason beyond our comprehension. The things we fight and deny are the same things we need the most. I have seen a golden thread spun out of many bad situations. Perhaps you would rather avoid the grief; but if you can’t, at least you can let it mold you.

The last time I had dinner with my family, I felt overwhelming gratitude. I was happy and content. Sadly, it has taken me many years and much struggle to reach this point, but I have finally found peace. My husband asked me later, “Would you have believed ten years ago that you would feel this way?” Not a chance!

My dad’s death has opened many doors for his wife. I am sure she would have preferred to avoid the sadness of his loss, but she couldn’t. The choices she has made since his death are probably not the same ones she would have made before his death. She has taken a bad situation and found the golden thread.

Being an awkward child, I fought learning how to ride my bike. I was content running after all the kids on our block as they glided around on their bicycles. Finally my family had enough and I was forced to learn something most children can’t wait to master. It took much patience, and quite a few tears—mostly from those trying to teach me—but I finally got it. After all the struggle, my life improved. Something that had seemed impossible now was effortless.

Life can be the same way. We instinctively recoil when a difficulty is placed in our lap. As if it were a snake, we panic and push it away, pretending it doesn’t exist. We try to get as far away as possible. But this often just prolongs the agony. Struggling is an indicator that we are under construction. It means that we are changing and learning, not only about things around us, but about our own strength. It may require patience and quite a few tears, but after all the struggle, something that seemed impossible will become effortless. We will emerge like butterflies, amazed at our own capacity to transform.

Sainthood

It’s easy to turn those who have died into saints. You overlook obvious flaws and overemphasize the goodness. An ordinary, average person can become extraordinary the day they die.

Now that my dad is gone we only seem to remember his amazing attributes. This is a source of contention for my mom because we have not shown her the same forgiveness. We have turned my dad into a saint: St. William Arnold. He would get a good laugh out of the whole situation. His final revenge.

My dad was able to pull this same maneuver when we were teenagers. He left town for an extended period of time after my parent’s divorce. Even though I felt angry and abandoned at the time, I soon forgave him. Then and now, only remembering the good, bright and sunny moments can ease the pain. It somehow makes the separation bearable. I gain much comfort recalling the positive qualities my dad displayed. But he was not a saint. He had flaws, he made mistakes, he was human.

Around the time my dad died, I learned some valuable information about my great-grandfather, who had passed away when I was a child. All my life I had been told about his amazing, saintly attributes. But no one ever talked about his flaws. I was shocked to learn of his failings. To know he was human.

The irony is that when you die, you are forgiven of the mistakes that follow you when you’re alive. This is a natural human tendency: to memorialize those who are gone, to set them on a pedestal. The sad part is that we can’t seem to do this when the person is living. For most of us death may be the only time we achieve sainthood.

Procrastination is expensive

Procrastination is putting off doing something until a future time. Delaying something needlessly. We all have things we don’t like to do. My husband tends to procrastinate when he is treading on unfamiliar ground. Other times it may be something painful we are putting off: a doctor’s visit, eating better, exercise. Then there are the times when we just delay needlessly, for no apparent reason. Maybe it’s a trip, a new purchase or making a phone call.

Time or money may be the root cause of our procrastination. I have mastered putting something off until a future time, and unfortunately this has led to many regrets. Life is fragile and delays can never be redeemed.

A few weeks before my dad died, I had an overwhelming desire to drop everything and go to Disneyland with him. I knew it wasn’t practical, I had no money and he probably couldn’t have gotten the time off work, but the thought lingered. I pushed it out of my mind until some future time. I also wanted to send him a movie that I knew he would enjoy, yet I delayed needlessly. I procrastinated! Those choices can never be redeemed. There is no “do over.”

Every time I talked to my dad he would tell me he was going to come back for a visit. In the spring it would be in the fall and in the fall it would be in the spring. The seasons always changed and we always hoped he would come.

Procrastination was one of his identifying trademarks. We knew he would eventually do it, just slower than most. Sometimes procrastination can save valuable energy. You have had time to make the right decision, which leads to less regrets. At other times, procrastination wastes valuable energy. You have delayed needlessly and have missed a window of opportunity that will never open again. Telling someone how you feel, taking a long-awaited trip, sending that one-of-a-kind gift, making a phone call. In an instant, those things may not be an option, and your delay has cost you a missed chance and given you a life filled with regret. That is the high price of procrastination.

Die in debt

I know this is controversial. As a parent, I would love to leave my children an inheritance. This is the “inheritance” my dad left me: die in debt. My dad got his wish. Not only did he die in debt, he had managed to accumulate no assets that could be distributed to his creditors. This may seem like a bad choice, but it did take some maneuvering.

My father was extremely generous. If it was in his power to give it to you, he would. He never thought twice about debt. He didn’t lose sleep over credit card payments. This generous attitude, combined with, “What, me worry?” was not the wisest financial choice. He lived life to the fullest and managed to accumulate debt in the process. “You only live once,” he would say.

So what did he accomplish by dying in debt? In his words, “It’s sticking it to the man.” Who was the man he so lovingly referred to? It is the system set up to kick you when you’re down. When you’re in dire straits financially, that is when your interest rate is suddenly raised to 55%. The late fees probably won’t matter, because you can’t even afford gas to get to work (if you still have a job).

I understand the flip side. You shouldn’t have debt. It’s irresponsible. Live within your means. Dying in debt is considered stealing. I do not have the easygoing attitude of my father. Debt stresses me out. But in his defense, I have also seen people who have deprived themselves their whole lives. Then they die. The same ending, but to a much more boring story. My dad’s story was anything but boring. If debt was what allowed him to live his life to the fullest, then I am thankful he made that choice. You never know how long your life will be. Live it with passion, enjoy every moment and if you need to, die in debt.

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Cherish the time you have

The last time I saw my dad, he hugged me and said, “Don’t bother coming back out, I know it’s hard on you.” We’d just had an amazing week of visiting him, and I had an overwhelming feeling that I might not see him again. As we drove off, I had more regrets than I normally did. I began to wonder if I had made the right decision in leaving California.

As I contemplated the choices I had made, I came to the realization that I cherished my dad more by not being around him all the time. When we were together, usually once every year, I valued every second of it. I recorded the memories and the feelings so that I could replay them later, when he was no longer there. I didn’t have to deal with the day-in-day-out stresses of life. He usually had something spectacular planned. He would tell us, “It’s all about you,” and we knew for that one week it was.

My dad was never a serious person, so I am grateful that during our long phone conversations I learned things about him and his childhood that he probably would not have told me in person. I’m thankful that he had the ability to cherish those around him: his wife, who had dozens of notes of adoration; his children, whom he regularly told how much he valued them; and all his family and friends that he took the time to treasure.

I probably would have never moved if I knew my dad would die. I would have stayed close and enjoyed every moment I had with him. Unfortunately, we never know that about anyone. How many people would we treat differently if we knew they would be gone tomorrow? What would we say to them today? Time is the most valuable commodity we have. Your house, your car, your credit cards—they won’t miss you when you’re gone. But those whom you took the time to cherish will.

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You need them

Why was my first phone call after my dad died to my mom? Because I needed her. I needed her strength in order to break the news to my sister. No matter how old we are, we still need our parents. We know that even if our mates or significant others don’t believe in us, our mom and dad will. They have the ability to support us the way no other human can.

My dad would tell me that he only heard from my brother in rough times. If things were going smoothly in my brother’s life, my dad wasn’t needed, and my brother could depend on himself. Sometimes, though, we reach the point emotionally when we don’t have the strength to take care of ourselves. Maybe it’s a tragic event, a bad week or some unexpected news. We manage to hold it together emotionally for our children, our mate, our friends. Then our mom or dad walks into the room and we break down like a little baby.

No matter how badly your parents treat you, no matter how old you are, you need them. I am a married woman with an amazing husband and three children of my own, but I will tell you that without a doubt the hardest part of losing my dad was that I still needed him. When I was a teenager, it may have been for superficial things: to borrow his car, to help me fix mine, gas, food, money—all those things you need as an adolescent.

But as I grew older, I needed his support, his understanding, his strength. All those times when your parent is the only one who will do. So the next time you feel like an independent and capable grown-up, take the time to appreciate your parents when you don’t need them, because the day may come when you do.

When did you need your parent's the most? Please feel free to comment.

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Celebrate life

Today, is the second year anniversary of my dad’s death. This is a day I have dreaded all year. February fourteenth is a day I wish never existed. The last two years have brought with them many tears and overwhelming moments of anguish.

I have had much time to think about what I should do on the anniversary of my dad’s death. Should I lock myself in my bedroom, cry all day or reflect on all the things I miss about him? These are all extremely tempting, but they don’t celebrate his life; they only commemorate his death.

What would my dad want us to do, to celebrate his life? Here’s my fantasy: I would rent a house in Montecito, his ultimate retreat. I would invite all of his family—he would have wanted that. We would start the day at the Santa Barbara harbor, followed by an afternoon at the zoo, ending with dinner at his favorite restaurant. We wouldn’t be sad; we would reminisce and be thankful for all the memories he left us. We would laugh, we would cry.

To celebrate means to observe a day with ceremonies of respect, festivity or rejoicing. Grief can be so overwhelming that we forget to celebrate what is left behind. We don’t remember the good times because it causes too much pain. We aren’t thankful for the short time we had; we are only bitter that it didn’t last longer.

These are all normal reactions to loss, but not ones my dad would have wanted for us. His life was about living, about laughing, about loving. He cherished every second. To wallow in self-pity was not his style. He celebrated every day, so why shouldn’t we? I want to celebrate the legacy he left us. My children should know how much he adored them. I can teach them to have his outlook on life. I can tell them stories so they understand who their grandfather was.

If I died tomorrow, I know my family would be sad, but I hope they would show me respect by rejoicing over what I left behind. My legacy is the memories I have created. Those will continue indefinitely. My dad will be the great-great-grandpa of some future generation. They will exist because of him, and maybe, if the stories have been passed down, they will still celebrate his life.


How do you celebrate life? What legacy will you leave? Please feel free to share your experience.

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Regret is our GPS

Regret goes hand-in-hand with loss. What kind of regrets will we have in life? How many decisions do you look back on and wish you could change? When you face loss, you always will have regrets. This is true not just with the death of a loved one, but with anything in life, including the loss of your job, your home or your spouse.

The worst part of regret is that, if you don’t have any, you will never learn from your mistakes. On the other hand, if you have too many, you will always be looking behind you and never move forward. So the lesson I learned is this: when you feel regret, stop and think about what it’s trying to tell you.

I regret that, during the last conversation I had with my dad, I was too busy to stop and cherish our talk. I didn’t sit down and enjoy our conversation. Did I tell him I loved him? I don’t remember—I was in too much of a rush. So what does this tell me? That, as usual, I was being impatient and thinking about things and not people.

My regrets are unsettling. They make me doubt my future decisions and also make me aware of my many failures. Regrets are much like a Global Positioning System. They are the annoying voice reminding you that somewhere along the trip you have gotten off course. They alert us when we have gone in the wrong direction. They prod us to take a new route. We may choose to ignore the advice our regrets are offering, but that will only result in us becoming thoroughly lost. On the other hand, if we listen to our regrets, we can change our path and safely arrive at our preprogrammed destination. We all know where we want to go; the hard part is arriving at our destination. Next time the annoying voice of regret tries to speak, it’s best to listen. Chances are, you have made a wrong turn somewhere along the way.


What are your biggest regrets? What have you learned from regret?

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It’s our quirks that make us lovable

First off, let me define quirkiness: a peculiar behavior; idiosyncrasy. Now, I want you to think about those you love the most. What is it that made you fall in love with them? If you could describe their personality in three words, what would they be? What peculiar behavior makes them who they are? We all have unique characteristics: some of us are creatures of habit, some are frugal, some are blunt, some are hermits, some are flaky. If you died tomorrow, what would people remember most about you? What would make them laugh when they reminisced. I have found that most of these peculiar behaviors are actually subconscious, developed over years of adapting to the life we have been given.

I learned this valuable lesson after my dad died. I realized that it was his quirkiness that I missed the most. I missed his ability to tell the same joke over and over, making himself laugh every time. I missed his unorthodox outlook on life. I missed his love of the transient lifestyle. I missed his exaggerated stories. I missed his passion for eccentric music. These peculiar behaviors added to his lovability. Was my dad the only quirky one in my family? Unfortunately not.

I discovered that my mom, who might not appear quirky on the surface, has her own peculiar behavior. We lovingly call it W.C.S. She has the ability to tell you the Worst Case Scenario in every situation. This may not seem like a bad trait, until you are in a San Francisco elevator with her and she tells you how horrible it would be if a large earthquake were to hit at that precise moment. Or when you are ready to board an airplane and she tells you how many birds she saw on the landing strip, and how likely they are to get caught in the engine of the plane.

Almost everyone around us has some sort of behavior that makes them stand out. You can allow these qualities to irritate you or you can savor them, laugh about them and store them in your file for later, because those same quirks are what make us lovable, especially when we are gone.

Maybe they’re the normal ones

I have spent many days talking to others about my family’s crazy antics, and have enjoyed quite a few laughs at their expense. My dad, who has an amazing sense of humor and is one of the few who did not move to North Carolina, would call on a weekly basis and we would joke about my mom’s side of the family, whom he knew all too well. I think he got a sense of satisfaction from it.

Then, early one morning, I got the worst phone call of my life. My healthy, vibrant dad had suddenly died!

My sister and mom (who had divorced him twenty years earlier) had to fly out to California for his funeral. Now, you may believe that grief brings out the worst in people, and I am sure that is true for some individuals. But soon after arriving, I realized something profound: my dad’s side of the family, which I was rarely around, was just as crazy as my mom’s. That was the first phase of this light-bulb moment. The second phase came when I was talking to an old friend and telling him a story about my grandfather, who was on the top of my most-embarrassing list. My friend jokingly said, “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the weird one and they’re the normal ones?”

Had I ever thought that? Not in a million years! But I couldn’t shake the comment. Maybe it’s because deep in my core I knew it might be true, but I didn’t dare admit it. What if I was the weird one? I had always felt different from the rest of my family. The puzzle piece that never quite fit, the incorrect color, the misaligned pattern, the piece that you were sure was in the wrong box. Everyone else seemed to have weird idiosyncrasies, but not me, I was the most functional normal of them all … or was I? This may be a sobering realization, but if you have gone through your whole life thinking you are normal and everyone else is weird, you may be wrong. That actually is the bad news. The good news is: we really don’t know what normal is anymore, so if 99% of people act a certain way and you are the 1% who doesn’t, who’s the odd bird? I realized that it was me.

In a way, this is a liberating feeling, because I can stop trying to be normal and finally let some of my quirky personality shine through. It’s actually fun joining the majority!