IN PASSING
IN PASSING
My father
and I had different ideas about memorializing our loved ones.
Let’s
face it; we had different ideas about EVERYTHING.
On the
anniversaries of the deaths of his parents and those that were special to him/us,
my brother and sister and I would receive emails from him with the words “IN LOVING
MEMORY OF” and the birth and death dates of our dearly departed.
I, on the
other hand, could never remember – would never remember the dates of a
loved one’s death; I prefer instead to honor the date someone showed up rather
than the date they left. I can’t celebrate
the day someone leaves, and to me a constant validation of it, while not celebratory,
does indeed celebrate it by marking it above all others. The only time I would
openly acknowledge – validate – a passing would be the very first
anniversary, because the first re-living of a moment is the most potent, and
while it’s preferable (and much more beneficial) to relive the happy times, the
negative iterations can be much more intrusive and forceful. Those memories
will ambush you.
And this,
sadly, is what brings me here, today.
Dad, this
past year has been my hardest. It has tested every belief I have held, about me
and everything around me.
Losing a
parent is one of those “you don’t know until you do” experiences. Whatever your
relationship with them was, because they were there with you first they
are the anchors that keep you, you. Your first identity is that of their
child. When they die, there is a feeling akin to being the balloon that slipped
out of someone’s hand – floating adrift, with nothing to hold it in place.
Of course, I
didn’t know that until one year ago today.
And then, I
felt guilty for not knowing, because maybe my not knowing how much pain it could
cause may have prevented me from being as understanding –
no, not understanding
… supportive –
[Understanding
is different. We all understand that this is an unavoidable and
painful arc in the circle of life.]
- supportive
of him when he lost his own parents, or maybe I wasn’t there enough for my best
friend, Donna, when her father passed a year before.
Once I knew
what it was like, it became hard for me to accept some condolences because,
really, it was ‘just my turn’.
It’s always
circles, isn’t it?
Dad loved
Harry Chapin, and today I’m reminded of his song, “Circle”. All morning I’ve
been hearing on a loop in my head:
“All my life’s a circle
Sunrise and sundown
Moon rolls through the nighttime
Till the daybreak comes around.”
I did say
this past year tested my beliefs. It really did – even that cocky-to-some
attitude of mine that I mentioned first, regarding what I’ve considered ‘celebrating’
death. Grief sucks.
It is never
bad to question your own beliefs, despite a ridiculous (yes, ridiculous) prevailing
attitude that to question something is a sign of weakness, a chink in the armor.
A question, or a test, doesn’t cause a crack – it can only reveal
one.
Dad taught
me that. Both sides, in fact, by telling me ‘what was so’ AND by telling me to
question everything I was told. (I know for a fact that I sometimes made him
regret telling me that last part.)
When we
remember anything, we relive it; that means we experience the same
emotions in that second incarnation as we did in the original. If our emotions are
proof of the experience then re-living the experience – even in memory – means it
has happened again, because we feel it again.
I have been
reliving the two weeks before this day of last year for these past two weeks,
and this past year has been a year of ‘firsts since’. I have fallen every
single time that feeling of loss snuck up behind me and whacked me on the head.
Those were
the moments that made me question everything. Understanding the ‘cycle of
life’ is really only a small consolation when all you feel is loss.
But it all
comes around again, doesn’t it? The one moment of loss, even while its effects
are felt forever after, is still a small moment compared to the many moments
that preceded it. In between the painful reminders of loss are multiple
reminders of what was there – what is still here, proven by the happiness in the re-membering.
To me, death
has been a transition; the person who dies isn’t ‘gone’; it’s more like they
are in a different room in the house – the house being the Universe. I believe in
the idea of eternal life, too. We prove it by carrying on the spirit and ideas
of those who have touched us. To me, every idea about religion and the microcosm
of the individual is the same; it is about one.
Dad and I
had quite the relationship. I wasn’t so much the traditional “Daddy’s Little
Girl”, but I was – AM – his daughter. And I am very proud of that. If you knew my
father, you’ll see him in me. If you never met him but know me, you know him.
I am a part
of my father; therefore, if I am here, so is he. And so is everyone that came before
him. All of us are one unit, collectively breathing the same air as all before
us. This boils down to my belief – recently, painfully confirmed - in The One.
We are eternal because we continue on by passing on to each other. Even the idea of “where
two or three are gathered in my name, I am there in the midst of them.” My
father, Robert Roulusonis, is here, right now, as you are reading my words, even
though he has passed on.
I think
about the phrase “passing on”. Passing away. Passing. Passing the baton.
Another
circle. The relay race, one person starts running with a baton, and stops when she
hands off the baton to the next person who carries it further, who does the
same.
Two things
about that thought stand out to me. The first is that the ‘race’ isn’t a
straight line, and where it ends is the point where it began.
The second thought
I had – and the one that really hit home - is that the person who takes the baton
leaves the other behind and with no regret; the only thought of
that person is the joy in how far they carried that baton.
So, Dad, I’m
taking you further. When I stumble and fall (and I have and I will), I will
still get up and carry on. Later, when it’s my turn to pass on the baton, we
will both be carried on until we come around again.
But for
today, and today only, I will publicly mark this particular anniversary.
(I’d like to
thank you for making it Valentine’s Day, to continue testing me!)
And, because
I am still your daughter who delights in doing things differently, I will not
say “IN LOVING MEMORY” – although the love is very much there.
BOB ROULUSONIS WAS HERE.
January 26, 1946 – February 14, 2021
“As I find you here again
A thought runs through my mind
Our love is like a circle
Let’s go ‘round one more time”
Harry Chapin - Circle
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