Over the weekend I went to a small town in Alberta to visit my father, who is ill.
As mentioned, my relationship with him has been troubled for many years.
It's difficult to talk about, difficult to find words that would help shape the experience and lend it logic, even in my own mind. The whole thing is more a run of emotion, of trying to adopt a certain mindset then swinging to the opposite end of that view, of acknowledging the fact I'm an adult yet feeling at times like a lost child, of sorrow and regret beyond degree.
Having said that, I'd like to dwell upon a few thoughts I can articulate, realizations which distilled themselves upon my mind as clearly as if I could hold them up in my hand for the entire world to see.
For one, I know people were thinking of me. Whether it was prayer, meditation, or mere fleeting thoughts, I felt an energy that got me through. It was real, something that calmed and stayed with me from the first to the last moment of my trip.
I also felt the power of kindness. A cousin whom I have not seen in ages (except, oddly, for a recent visit here in Las Vegas), reached out and invited me to stay with him and his family. During the entire time I was there he was such an amazing presence to be around. I don't know how to explain it. It was like having the ultimate big brother suddenly swoop in out of nowhere. He took time to listen and share in what I was feeling, to help me deal with a few concerns, to make me laugh...it was so totally unexpected and had the effect of a healing balm upon my heart which I feel, even now.
Finally, I was left with a renewed awareness of the fleeting duration of mortality. Not that I think my dad is going to die anytime soon but it forced a confrontation of that fact all the same, a more visceral sense than what I typically acknowledge in my everyday world.
It reminded me to try harder to enjoy the time I have with the people I love.
In saying this, I'm not advocating burning through one's days in some hedonistic blaze of glory. I believe in taking life seriously and spending a great deal of energy in making this world a better place.
I also see when it comes to the joys and sorrows of life, sorrow should ultimately take the backseat. That may be difficult to hear if you're in the midst of great affliction, but I give my opinion carefully, with respect for the necessity and purpose of grief. Grief can be a conduit to better things and is one of the great, elevating conditions of humanity. I do not dismiss it in the least.
But when all is said and done, life is beautiful and it is meant to be enjoyed.
This is hardly a new revelation, but it impressed itself more clearly on my mind as I sat in that hospital room with my dad: while I'm alive I want to really live. Maybe it's more of a mental evolution than anything else, as I don't see myself suddenly climbing Mount Everest or snorkelling with the sharks.
It's a desire to live the same life, but with more openness and a greater sense of it.