December 5, 2014
I woke up at 4 A.M. early Friday morning. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and my stomach still had the overwhelming feeling of being full from a whole day's worth of overeating. Due to that overeating, I thought my sudden awakening might have been brought on by indigestion. After all, I did consume two meals from two different households, about six hours apart. That led me to wonder which house chef was at fault for my bad night's sleep.
After mulling around in my mind for around a half hour about the different foods prepared by the other cooks in their respective homes, the faces of my family replaced the pictures of food floating around in my mind.
My sister's face revolved around my memories of turkey and pies. Even though she didn't peer much into the dining room while she prepared a thankful dinner, I still remembered seeing her glance up from her heavy cooking. At the same time, she made final preparations for her signature dishes that we had longed for an entire year. We made brief eye contact. I nodded my head, accompanied by a smile, and then looked away towards both my brothers. They were seated on the couch, not too far from me. Their conversation lingered, and I could capture what they were saying. Like my sense of smell could consume the cooking food from my sister's kitchen.
My oldest brother had an eye on the football game between his conversations about politics and work. My second oldest brother was trying to avoid the game altogether, which is the norm, as he tried to keep the talk about occupational therapy.
All of us are older now, in our 40s; we're a little grayer, with less hair and a little extra weight, yet we still see ourselves as the same kids we grew up with. In that respect, nothing has changed.
I remember us all around the Christmas tree as children, looking through our gifts. It was a time when we still believed in Santa Claus. Of course, it all seemed simpler when we remember our youth now that we are older. We didn't know death or disease. We needed to figure out how the world worked. We were genuinely innocent in a world of pain and heartache.
My attention turned towards our parents. Divorced now for almost 40 years, they still come together to celebrate the holidays with their kids. But now, on this day, they were the ones that seemed different.
My dad, a workaholic, seemed tired, withered, and frail. My mom looked the same in her older age, so I only put her looks into perspective once I added her age.
There was a time when they seemed invincible. That they were going to be around until the end of time. However, tonight, as I lay in bed and ponder, my thought process brought me to the sad realization that, like my grandparents, my parents will pass. My kids will mourn them as I did mine. I won't have a mom and dad like my parents were then. And now, my brothers and sister will age, as my parents did, and we will soon fill their shoes as grandparents, and one day they will mourn our loss. So it goes, the circle of life.
But damn, that justification didn't bring me any peace. It freaked me out. I still have the world at my feet. Just starting the prime of my life. I can do anything I put my mind to. But one day, I will be older than my parents (I'm sparing them the posting of their age since I would like to live a little longer). And there are so many questions I have. Are they scared now more than ever about the ending of life? Not that I would ask them something that could sound so insensitive. Their age is up there; they avoided death all their life by not dying in a plane crash, car crash, war (Vietnam), sky diving, drag racing, or bearing children. But now, time and age are catching up to them, and they can't survive aging. But thankfully for them, they seem to be on the path of a long, fulfilling life. And in the grand scheme, isn't that all anyone can ask for?
Do they worry like me? I'm anxious, and I'm not close to their age. Is this a mid-life crisis? Maybe anxious? I have always been nervous when it came to anticipation. I hate not knowing. For instance, I have to see the time, and I can barely get through a YouTube video without anticipating the end of the video. How will I anticipate turning 60, 70, or 80 as I close in on the end of an average life span?!
Laying here wide awake in bed, my mind delved deeper, beyond age and the anticipation of death, but I looked into death itself. Holy shit! I'm going to die. I will cease to exist. And life will go on without me. What's beyond death's door? Is death a deep sleep that will awaken us into another life? Is death just a series of endless dreams while I lie in blackness? Or will nothing happen at all? Just a black hole of blankness that I won't even know is there? For example, when I fall into a deep sleep at 9 P.M., open my eyes, and suddenly it's 5 A.M., is that time between eight and eight hours an example of death?
At this moment, I'm alive, but the fact remains that even if I can hide under these covers and not face the day because the thought of dying numbs me with fear, it is right about the time a damn plane could crash through the roof and take me out. And the ironic thing is, I don't even live close to the airport! I guess "When it's your time, it's your time."
Unknowns suck. Unknowns are only known after the fact, and those people who are dead are in the know now. And only they can answer that question. The only thing good about a deep sleep is the experience of quiet peace. However, if there is life after death, where are the billions of people that died before my existence? Why hasn't there been concrete evidence of a loved one's return? Damn, why am I overthinking at 4:23 A.M.
These thoughts make me tremble and shake. The reality of life is that I am alive at this moment, but eventually, my time will come. And no matter how hard I try to figure out where I will be when I die, how I will die, and most importantly, what will happen when I die, I hope that the death of my body will ultimately release my soul into the heavens.
I only wish I could release this indigestion revolving in my mind into the heavens, and maybe I could go back to sleep. But I can't seem to digest a thing.
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