The drive wasn’t the hard part, it was the journey after I reached my destination that started the real work. Six hours. Six hours from Schrödinger’s cat—a la 2008. When the phone call came, my twenty-seven-year-old brain told the teenager that inhabited it what was going on: My Father was about to die. Had he already done so? Or was he hanging on—albeit in a state of unconsciousness—in order to have both of his people tethered to him as he left this existence? Why hadn’t I come up more frequently throughout the last two months? Was she going to be okay…would she make it through this? She’d been alone for so long, taking care of him and working full-time, all while trying to maintain the mountain of medical bills and crushing debt incurred from a single-income family and one very irresponsible ‘adult’ child. My mother’s journey began long before my full grasp of her situation. Of our situation.
“They said I should call you and tell you to come back…to say goodbye,” words that would inexorably change the way I viewed the world, life and death, and my relationship with my mother. In six hours, watered by tears streaming freely from dangerously unfocused eyes, I grew into a man as I drove. Of course, that was only the beginning; after he died later that next day, the world changed. My sense of duty vaulted from a lockbox within my soul and dug its claws into my consciousness with painful purchase.
For the next few years, I attempted to become the son my mother had always deserved—at least to my best ability. I became a husband to my wife, rather than a roommate who was madly in love with the person he saw just a few precious moments in between our work schedules. I became driven toward lofty and—at that point—seemingly untenable—goals. I wanted to become a good man for them, to try and fill the gaping hole in all our lives, to try and fix the broken nature of our family, to earn the love that two women had given for so many years prior. And the respect of a man whose words would never relay the sentiment. No matter how much I achieved, he’d never again be able to tell me he was proud. I still search for those whispers…I’m still met with silence.
The next part of the journey and the previous chapter of my life met like two thunderstorms threatening to rip apart my soul. I didn’t want to look ahead; in that direction, the ways of hardship and endurance loomed with eager embrace. Oh, I knew I had to face them…but I didn’t want to—I wanted the ability to travel backward and recover what had been permanently lost: Time.
In the end, time is all we have. Time teaches us; it is the great mentor, the everlasting tormenter, the salve to grievous wounds. It cannot be earned in excess—only the present allotment is given, no more, no less, no matter who we are or what we do. What we choose to spend our allowance on, the most precious of currencies, is how we are defined. Our past matters, for it is that which shapes our present and informs our future. How will we dole out this non-renewable resource? Will we utilize methods of unseemly medication to pass it, becoming an ‘extra’ in our own life’s movie? Or will we choose to be the main character—the person who accepts fate with faith, loss with grace, and help from others with gratitude.
Often, probably too much, I think about those days. I think about that day in particular—the day of the drive and the journey thereafter. Of the change it beckoned and the man I am today because of it. Not all drives, both literal and figurative, have the same destination. Some will lead us to places of insurmountable joy and ineffable peace. Others will find us in wreckage, limping away with bruises too deep to see. And sometimes, what feels like familiar road is simply untraversed highway which looks identical but is very different from that which we’ve previously experienced.
This particular written stream of consciousness has a point, well…many points throughout, but a main one at its heart. Time is the only part of the future that exists in certainty. The seconds will continue to tick away, taking part of us with them. Which parts do we want them to take? Do we want to continue soldiering on, unwilling to be changed by our experiences, giving time lesser portions of ourselves with which to remember us by? Do we want to practice insanity by expecting the same outcome without changing the way we spend time’s income? Can we look at our world and honestly say that we’re doing what we can to make it better for ourselves and our neighbors—and, those who love us the most? Or are we simply driving along, uninhibited by the precursors of our current trip, only to find ourselves straining to see through unfocused eyes?
Use your time wisely. Sometimes it won’t be easy; and there’s something to be said for ‘wasting time’ as a means by which to heal, refresh or otherwise reset. Make more trips to see your parents—or during Covidtide, to call them—if they’re still alive. Take initiative in building existing relationships; you never know when one of you won’t be there anymore. Break the habits of self-depreciation and self-imposed thoughts of worthlessness; you were created by a being who stands out of time and watches your life in total, not in segments. God knows your worth, and so should you. No matter what you’ve done prior to today, time has the added benefit of allowing you to step into tomorrow as the person you wanted to be, the day before.
And, for your own sake, take the time you’re given and make it matter. Work can wait. The house will get cleaned eventually. That project in the backyard will still be there tomorrow. But the people you love may not be. Call an old friend today. Forgive a past transgression. Forgive yourself for ‘not being there in time’ whatever that means in your context. Take time with the time you’ve been given and devote some to yourself, too. Rough roads lie behind us, but the drive continues nevertheless. And the journeys that begin after arrival are unknown. It’s time for me to accept that, and be a better steward of the moments I have now. I hope you do the same. I know I will, with God’s help.
Enjoy the drive.
Faithfully,
Fr. Sean+