Tag: dying

Still searching for an identity… part 2

~ K ~ Leave a comment

Guilt.

I suffer from the guilt of existence. I’d feel guilty if I had a child before some of my friends I know who have desired children for years. Especially since I also know they desire children so much more than me.

And the ability to stay home and live primarily off my husband’s income so I can devote my time and attention to my novel (which I have no idea whether it will be any good or be able to earn any money). I have so many friends and family members who do not have this opportunity. I feel bad. Something tells me I must work full-time like them to make life fair even though I don’t have to.

It’s not fair that people who want to live must die when there’s someone like me who thinks so little of herself that she would trade places with someone who was dying.

I wait every night, you know, to die.

I’ve given up on suicide because I’ve tried numerous times and I can’t succeed. People tell me it’s because God says it’s not my time to go.

So every night, I wait for God. I wait for Him to take me. I anticipate “my time to go.” That final breath, that final gasp of air that God won’t let me recover from. I wait for it nightly.

But then I wake up each morning, somewhat stupefied as to why I’m still alive. What’s God’ s purpose for me? Am I meant to accomplish something monumentally great or simply exist to bring a smile to my husband’s face each day for the next 60 years?

And what’s wrong with that? Why can’t I be content simply to exist only to make other people happy?

“I tend to be of the mindset that in order to be pleasing to God, I have to do something big, something that leaves an evident footprint in the world. I think deep down I know this isn’t a true philosophy, but when I just live everyday life, I feel useless.” –Sizzledowski, “Sometimes I talk to myself… a lot“

No, I’m not content because I’ve been taught that “bigger is better.” (Well, except when it comes to weight.)

Servant leadership.

My father used to work in the maintenance department of a large ad agency and sometimes he’d get whatever leftovers were no longer wanted. One time, the agency developed (or recycled, I’m not sure) a slogan and printed up more T-shirts than they could use so my dad brought a bunch of them home. The slogan has stayed with me to this day:

“Good enough is not enough.”

So I’ll always feel like a failure. Because once I achieve that one “great” thing, I’ll always be looking for the next great thing. It’s a vicious cycle–always looking to outdo myself. This was also part of Michael Jackson’s downfall. As a perfectionist, he was always trying to “top” himself. The “Thriller” album sold 26 million copies worldwide back in the 80s, immediately becoming the best-selling album of all time. In fact, it is STILL the best-selling album of all time with more than 100 million copies sold worldwide. (The next album that comes even close is AC/DC’s “Back in Black” with 49 million copies.)

“Good enough is not enough.”

Jackson wanted to continue to break records and continue to top the charts even after “Thriller” but was never able to relieve that kind of success again in his lifetime.

So where does it stop? A person can’t always be number one.

Jesus said the first shall be last and the last shall be first. (Mk. 10:31, Matt. 20:16) As a Christian, what does this mean to me?

It means the only way to truly lead is by serving. That is what Jesus did. And not to minimize my Lord in any way but that is also the example all the great human heroes followed: Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Mother Teresa. Not self-serving but serving others. Who will have had more of an impact 100 years from now: Madonna or Martin Luther King, Jr.? God bless Madonna if history textbooks mention her musical impact from the 1980s but MLK, Jr. has changed the lives of many people in this country. From the White House down to little ol’ me, he continues to have a lasting impact beyond his death. As a result of MLK, Jr.’s tireless work, I can write a blog post with fairly good grammar and spelling that reaches a multicultural audience because I had the opportunity to receive a stellar education from Kindergarten through college. (Let’s just conveniently ignore the fact that the last sentence was atrociously written, though.)

The world says to be number one and never settle for last place. My Lord says the first shall be last and the last shall be first. The world says take the lead; be a leader. Jesus says, “Follow me” (Matt 4:19); be a servant (Jn. 13:12-17).

With things like pride and self-sufficiency (really a subset of pride), being a true, consistent servant is difficult:

  • Never seeking glory for yourself.
  • Always doing things for the benefit of others.
  • Constantly knowing your limitation so you can ask for help for the sake of others.

Not easy.

Don’t fear the reaper

~ K ~ 2 Comments

Am I fearful? Fear is a focus on phantoms of the theoretical future. But the future is God’s, not mine; mine is only the present moment. I am fearful because I’m thinking I have to live the rest of my life. But I don’t. I only have to live the next five minutes. To me belongs obedience; to Him belongs outcomes.

…

Am I depressed? The concept of doing “the next thing” is just the ticket. Granted, I am far too weak to go on with life—but I can do a load of laundry. And after that I can make the kids breakfast. And after that I can pick up the phone and call a deacon for help on balancing that checkbook. One foot in front of the other: Do “the next thing.” — The next thing by Andrée Seu

grim reaperI have been pondering death a lot lately. Each night, I give my husband multiple kisses and hugs “good night” in the event I may not see him alive in the morning. I have a huge fear of waking up next to my husband’s cold, lifeless body. Creepy thought isn’t it?

Then I think to how I should react: keep it together and call the police, scream and cry forever, and the most unlikely—shock from the sight and terrifying realization that I’m now widowed causes me to fall over and have a heart attack, joining him in eternity.

My life has always been ruled by fear in one way or another: mostly in social situations. Now, I’m afraid of losing those I love.

I’m afraid of not seeing my mom (who lives all the way in New York) again. I’m afraid that the next time the phone rings, it’ll be a call telling me my 99-year-old beloved grandmother has passed on from old age (she’s in perfectly good health otherwise). My father’s death came out of the blue; who’s next? No one is guaranteed tomorrow.

Then my husband’s grandfather’s suicide was a shock that I still haven’t gotten over. Sure, I’ve accepted the fact that he’s gone but the way he went… it’s still unbelievable.

Am I afraid of dying so much? A little. I’m a bit afraid of what it will be like to go but I don’t worry for others after me. They’ll be fine. Whenever that is.

But if I lose my husband, I’ll be lost. I’m dependent on him for nearly everything. I don’t want to live my life without him. And God can take him away if He wants but I don’t want Him to. I went from my mother’s house to being a wife. I have no idea what it’s like to be “independent.” I’m afraid that I’ll sadly fail to survive without my husband and my mom around. I think of how life could suck. I think of how life used to suck. And it doesn’t feel that way. Life really is good right now.

Thinking about losing my husband to death makes me appreciate every kiss and hug I get from him. I don’t want any regrets in death—his or mine. But I need to stop my fear of losing him and begin enjoying living with him again.

Will You Be There?

~ K ~ Leave a comment

I’ve been feeling really sentimental lately with all these celebrity deaths. As a result, it’s gotten me thinking of my father who passed away in 2001. I was at PCC and he died on Sunday, December 9. It was the week of finals and my family (mother and my dad’s two sisters) thought it’d be better to let me finish up my finals without distractions so they didn’t tell me until they were driving me home from the airport on Saturday, December 14. I got 104 (extra credit) on Mr. Zila’s History test and knew my dad would love to hear that since he loved any grades that were 100+. Instead, I suddenly found myself preparing a eulogy for my father’s funeral on December 17.

Most of you know by now that I’m a huge Michael Jackson (MJJ) fan. Well, you can thank my dad for that. Back in 1992 around the time the Free Willy movie came out, MJJ came out with a song called “Will You Be There.” My father loved that song TONS and back then said he wanted it played at his funeral. Well since I had no hand in funeral preparations (and I was still in the clutches of IFBism), it was never played. It’s something I regret not fighting for. To make up for it, I chose to walk down the aisle to “Will You Be There” as a tribute to my father.

All that to say that 8 years later, I still miss my dad. I’m over the bitterness about my family not telling me my father died sooner because I know they did it in my best interest. (Apparently when my uncle died of AIDS in the early ’90s, they had to give me a sedative to get me to calm down because I was so hysterical. They figured if that’s what happened with my uncle, I’d be ridiculous upon my father’s death. I wasn’t.) I talk to my husband about him but I feel like I’m talking about some imaginary person who never existed. (BTW, I know that’s a redundant phrase.) I don’t know how to keep his memory alive. What makes things worse is that I really lost my dad a long time ago. My father struggled with schizophrenia/paranoia and so the father that I had at 12 was radically different from the father I ended up with when I was 16. He passed away from a heart attack when I was 19. My mom said she watched his eyes fly open and gasp for air. He started foaming out the mouth and couldn’t breathe. She watched him die on their bed in their bedroom. She couldn’t bring herself to talk to me about his passing until a few years later.

Many of the memories I have of my father are fading and that scares me. We used to go to the park and toss around a football even though I was hopelessly nonathletic. (I still enjoyed it immensely.) One Christmas when all my parents could afford was one gift, he found out which CD I wanted the most that year and got it for me (Alanis Morissette’s Jagged Little Pill). When MJJ’s Live in Bucharest concert was being played on VH1 (wow – remember when they used to play music videos?!) after we first got cable, he called me in from my bedroom because he knew I’d love to see it. (His “Smooth Criminal” choreography always amazes me but I found out he stole it from Fred Astaire.) I’m writing this out, hoping it stays with me.

Me and DaddyAnyway, I wrote all that as a partial vent and also to ask how do you keep the memories of your loved ones alive. My husband will never know my father on this earth. My kids (if I ever have any) will think of my dad only as some kind of fairy tale. Pictures of him are limited but here’s one I found and scanned into my computer. I just try to think that he’s still looking down at me and smiling—whether I’m perfect or not.