A few years ago my orchestra and duet buddy, Tanner Holst, passed away unexpectedly. I had never experienced death so closely before. This was someone I saw every day. We spent hours together playing duets in practice rooms and even had a small performance in master class. We sat next to each other in orchestra as I was principal clarinet and he was principal bassoon. I even had a small crush on him (which was ridiculous since he was still a teenager and I was in my mid twenties).
His passing nearly killed me.
I couldn't imagine life...music...without him. He was the one that made me want to be more. With his death began the slow death of my love of clarinet.
I still cry if I think too much about it.
However, when he passed, my feelings of sorrow were very much based on seeing a life shortened suddenly and how unfair it was to see someone so amazing not get to be alive anymore.
Then my grandmother passed away.
Her death was more expected. She had suffered from Alzheimer's and we knew the end was coming long before it made its final round.
I was not as close to my grandmother as I should have been, but I loved her and I definitely miss her. I knew she had lived a good life and despite it ending sooner than we would have liked, her life was worth something.
Her death began my questioning on the lifelong belief that families are eternal and that I will see her again. This was the beginning of the war on my faith that I am still fighting (and very much losing at this moment) to this day.
Then my former Bishop and husband to my childhood piano teacher passed away a few months later. He had also lived a good life. He lost a battle with cancer sadly, but he was still a good person to his last days as far as I know.
He was such an example to me and such an important person in my formative years in high school. It was so very sad to see him leave mortality, but it seemed right that he left when he did.
After these deaths my life was changed drastically. Each death brought a new trial and lesson to be learned.
But, until now, I have never truly contemplated mortality and what it really means to die.
Despite any religious beliefs...whether or not you believe in life after death...whether or not there is a spirit that continues on after the mortal body has rotted and decomposed...
Once you die, you are dead.
I know, this is highly philosophical here. (Sarcasm)
Let me explain more.
My dad is in his last few weeks of life here on this planet. Soon he will cease to exist as a living human being. Soon he will be a rotting corpse 6 feet in the ground.
For me, my dad stopped being my dad a long time ago. We have not had a great relationship. Pride and selfishness dug a wedge between us while I was still in high school and despite efforts to move past it, I still have a lot of hard feelings towards him. I don't feel love and compassion when I think of my father. While others feel pity and sadness for him, I feel hurt, bitterness and anger.
With his mental state now it's too late to attempt to mend the relationship. He didn't even comprehend who I was when I was there for Thanksgiving last week.
To him I was 'The Piano Player.'
Despite our broken relationship and the fact that it will be a relief when he passes (he is suffering as well as my mother who has had to endure his many issues throughout life)...I am still brought to a dead silence when I ponder the fact that he will no longer exist in this life.
His passing means freedom on so many levels. He will not be in pain anymore. He will not have to suffer from another seizure. He will not have to depend on anyone else to help him eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. He will be free.
To my mom it means freedom from being a caretaker. She will be free to live her life again, before it was consumed with basically babysitting my father every day.
To my brother it means freedom from his own demons in his relationship with our father.
To me it means freedom to leave this state (as I am not a fan of flying and did not want to have to fly out for his funeral, which we knew would be soon. Not this soon, but soon nevertheless). It means freedom from feeling anxiety every time I visit my hometown. It means freedom from not feeling trusted (however I lost his trust is beyond me, but it's the honest truth; my father does not trust me). It means freedom from so many things.
Yet, it also means I failed to be a good person. It means I was unable to mend our broken relationship. It means I was too selfish and too proud to move past the hurt and anger I feel. It means I failed.
We BOTH failed.
When I look back on my father's life I think of the word tragedy.
If his life were a Shakespeare play, it would have been a tragedy.
All he ever knew was pain and sadness.
I rarely remember him being happy. I don't know that he ever was really happy. Most of his conversations either consisted of childhood stories when not so good things happened (unless they involved his friend Patrick), or they were complaints of things at work or church.
Or he talked about the books he was reading or the movie he had recently watched.
When I reflect on the life my father lived I do not see a person that rose above the muck. I see a person that barely managed to keep his head above water...or rather, the mud...because it wasn't clear and beautiful as water is.
I see a sad, depressed, tragic life.
So, when I contemplate his no longer existing, I wonder what was his purpose. Why was he allowed to live his life? Why was he my father? Why did his life crumble underneath him when it was already struggling to stay together?
Why?
What is the purpose in all of this?
I suppose having faith in this situation is a necessity, but I don't have much faith.
My religion believes in eternal families.
No one in my family is qualified to be together eternally. I don't know that I want to be with my father forever. The relationship is THAT bad.
So, what's the point in believing in eternal families? I may get to see them again once we all pass, but the bonds made in the temple sealing have been broken.
So, again, I ask...what was the point of his life?
What will happen to his soul once he is freed from his poor, sad, pathetic mortal body? What will happen to those of us left behind?
Will there ever be healing in this broken family?
In only a few weeks he will be dead.
He will cease to exist.
What the hell?!?!?!?
