One of my colleagues at work died last weekend. He worked in a different department and I didn't know him all that well. That said, we had worked at the same school for twenty years. We would always say hello and our conversations were always short but pleasant. It's cliché, but I never heard a bad word about him from students, faculty or staff. He seems like a genuinely good person.
He was only 54 and likely died of an aneurysm. I am….(checks ID)…an unbelievable 47.
So, I have been thinking about my own mortality even more than usual. It’s not an exaggeration to say the thought of death lingers in my head at least 2-5 times a day and this was before this past weekend. I am reminded of dying when I drive because I have been in a serious car accident and have had friends die in car wrecks. I am reminded of death when my mom gives me the rundown of the old, sick, and dying from her church. I am reminded of death when my wife tells me someone on her "friends list" husband died. I am reminded when my imagination believes the headache is probably a brain tumor or when my wife doesn't answer my text for two hours. Thoughts of death or dying are part of my routine.
This is definitely a form of neurosis, but when I think of death, it’s usually matter-of-fact. These thoughts shape me in many positive ways. This is why I am motivated to plan a new summer program at work or what pushes me to send check-in texts with my kids when they are at school. I become thankful for my morning coffee or I stop to feel the cool breeze as I walk to the office. I am grateful for this neurosis.
Earlier this week was driving and thinking about how I want to get to at least get into my 70s before I die. That is only (double-checks the math)….an unbelievable 23 years away. I started thinking that twenty-three years doesn't sound like a lot of time. In an attempt to make myself better, I tried to remember where I was 23 years ago...
In December of 2001, I was finishing my third semester of grad school. I earned my undergraduate degree in May of 2000 and decided to attend grad school back home to save money. I lived with my folks and got a job as a substitute teacher. I got another part-time job working for a company that provided VHS and DVDs to grocery stores for rentals.
Yeah, 23 years ago WAS a long time ago.
In September of 2001, I had gotten into a serious car accident and the accident still lingered in my daily thoughts. I felt lucky to be alive.
I also remember feeling uneasy with the idea that my adulthood was stretching out in front of me. I was already plotting my next move. I didn’t know what it would be, but I thought it should be dramatic. I was thinking of moving out of state on a lark and seeing where life would take me.
After my last class in the fall of 2001, I was talking with a woman from my class in the parking lot. I liked her okay, she was smart and cute so I asked if we could get coffee sometime and she said yes. I didn’t know how that would work out but I remember feeling, “Why not? She seems nice enough…” but I never called her and I'm not really sure why.
A few days later my good friend K came into town from LSU on winter break and I started hanging out with her and then….everything in my life turned upside down. That story is told in great detail here.
Twenty-three years bridging the start of my marriage, to this random point in time, to (hopefully) bridging twenty-three more years to the age of 70.
Truly at a mid-life point.
I like to joke that after your late 30s, you don’t experience a mid-life
crisis, it’s just one series of crises, one after another.
Something happened this fall that really shook my wife and me to our core (and it wasn’t death). It affected others and it was my fault. It was a Grade-A fuck up from yours truly. It also opened up a lot of discussion on some struggles that I haven’t told anyone about because I figured I was doing okay just repressing those problems. I could pretend it really wasn’t an issue at all because I was doing just enough to push it out of my mind. An anonymous blog is not the place to get into such things but despite it all, my amazing wife has proven she’s my best friend and the best partner I could hope to have. I don’t deserve her.
I don’t know how many years I have left. I do know all of my memories, achievements, and adventures mean nothing compared to the love I have experienced. Love of others, love of life. Love is the meaning of my life.
Where will I be in twenty-three years?
I don’t know, but I hope it continues to be a life of love and grace.
