A Moment to Pause
Taking time to slow down and reflect on daily life, and our past, seems to have become a luxury that few of us enjoy. You can debate why and lament all the things in our lives that cause us to hurry through each day and, sadly, I doubt it will change how we live. We seem to be a society hell bent on being in a hurry. The great country band, Alabama, had a popular song in 1992 with a chorus that said, “I’m in a hurry to get things done, I rush and rush till life’s no fun.” That was more than 30 years ago and, if anything, it is worse today than when they released the record.
Over the last several months, I have been blessed to hear from countless readers of Mom’s Diary. I have noticed a theme; loss is painful, but in time there are moments of joy that bubble up. Specifically, I have noticed that each person who has lost someone can easily recall a trigger that leads to a memory or story about the one they miss. It can be a song that takes you back to a time or place, a movie, a meal, a trip to a restaurant, or a location. There is seemingly no limit to the number of things that can stimulate a powerful reflection; a reflection that can almost feel like you are with that person again.
Admittedly, some of these memories may not be pleasant, but what I have experienced from my interactions in the past few months, is that most people, when triggered by some outside force remember good things; and find joy in the moment.
I have found comfort in hearing the stories of others. Surprisingly there is a peacefulness in listening to someone recall their past, and to experience in some small way, the hope they feel when a trigger leads to a happy story about their lost loved-one. It has given me a perspective I didn’t have before. I am beginning to understand the journey of a shared life with someone you love is only part of the story. The rest of the story is what they gave you, that you now carry forward. If you have lost someone, maybe this makes sense. And if you are so inclined to post it in the comment section, I would love to hear of a moment when something reminded you to stop what you were doing and for a few minutes think about the person who is physically not with you but found its way into your crazy schedule to remind you of a special time or place. I look forward to hearing those stories.
To that end, I hope you will allow me to share with you a thought that has consumed me for the last three days. My Dad passed away in October of 2022 and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of him. However, this last weekend thoughts of Dad have dominated my mind.
Dad was a committed fan of all things connected to the Tennessee Vols. His pride and commitment never wavered. Beginning on Saturday, his favorite team was playing for the national championship in college baseball, and it looked like they had a chance to win it. This was a far cry from when Dad held season tickets for 30 plus years. Most of those years, they were awful, but he was devoted to them. He religiously watched his team, playing bad baseball. In recent years they have gotten better and as he aged, his ability to be at every game was challenged, but his love never diminished, and his devotion never faltered.
Funny thing about losing a loved one, if you’re like me, you find yourself reaching for the phone to call them when something hits your mind that had always previously led to you call. I suspect this feeling never leaves, as 25 years removed from Mom’s death, I still find myself thinking I need to call Mom. This last weekend, my urge to call Dad was in overdrive.
I wanted to share with him the excitement of each critical moment of the game and capture my childhood memories of watching him show what loyalty and pride looked like. I can’t even begin to count the number of times I thought--I need to call Dad, but it was a lot. And if I am being honest, those moments of excitement to reach out, followed by the stark reality I couldn’t, brought me a brief sense of sadness knowing I wouldn’t hear his voice.
Last night his team won the national championship. The happiness in Vol nation is indescribable. It is personal to lifelong fans of the school and unquestionably is tied to other family stories, like I was feeling for my dad.
What I experienced this weekend and especially last night, isn’t about the game, or the team, or the championship. What I felt was, what I hope everyone feels, a chance to connect again with someone who you love, who isn’t physically with you. We are all going to lose people in our lives, and someday we will also pass. As has been said before, none of us are getting out of here alive. However, I have begun to accept that life is about the little events, or lasting impacts that others have on us, and we have on them; and finding things that remind us of others is a blessing to be cherished.
In case you missed it, Tennessee won the national championship; and all is right in the world today. Dad would have enjoyed this team, and this season like no other. Regardless of what was going on, or how badly his body hurt, today would have been a great day.
When the game ended, my immediate thought turned to Dad; I wanted to call him and hear his happiness. I wanted to feel his pride and recapture other moments in our lives together when I saw him with unbridled joy. I wanted to do that but couldn’t. What I could do, and what I did, was allow my mind to freely wander with thoughts of him. It was on some level sad, but mostly joyous. Dad’s team won, and nothing would change my belief that he was enjoying it.
As the night turned to Tuesday, I found it hard to sleep. Excitement from the game, and emotions for what had happened filled my mind. Honestly, I was seeking a way to be with Dad. I didn’t know what to do, and then it hit me. I played the Tennessee Waltz on my phone. Tears filled my eyes and rolled down my cheek. My emotions flooded forward, and I cried with the biggest grin on my face. Dad and I had stood arm-in-arm in 1998 after Tennessee had won the football national championship, listening to the band play the Tennessee Waltz. Last night after midnight, I was back to that place, back to countless places with my dad and the joy the Vols brought him. I will forever be grateful for the private time I spent last night lost in emotion and full of love.
I am certain I am not alone, and I am confident that if, or more accurately when, you lose someone you will find peace in simple moments that bring back comforting memories; it is a blessing. And it is a blessing I enjoyed last night. Thank you for allowing me to share my thoughts with you today.
Hey Dad… How bout them Vols?
