Texas Lou

I remember the first time that my young mind comprehended the depth and permanence of death.

It was summer time.  I was 9 or 10 years old.  I was in the midst of two weeks at summer camp.  I sat on the dock alone dangling my feet in the warm water of Inks Lake while I soaked up the hot Texas sun.

I don’t know what thoughts I had or emotions I felt that lead me to this frightening conclusion.  I don’t remember what path my mind was following.  As soon as the thought struck me, I was paralyzed in fear.  When you die, that’s it.  When you die, you are gone and life is over.  When you die, you have no idea what happens next.  I don’t want to die, but I have to.  I was only a child, but these very disturbing adult ideas took over my body and mind.

That was the moment that I realized that death was permanent and real.  That is when I understood that the ones I loved could be taken away from me forever and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.  That is when I think I stopped being a child, and started my journey toward adulthood.  That moment was the barrier between my innocent, ignorant, happy childhood and my stressful, fearful, incessantly analyzing struggle to become an adult.

I used to yearn for that blissful ignorance.  I used to swear I’d give anything just to turn my mind off when I wanted.  But now, I embrace adulthood and all of the fear, uncertainty, and pain that accompanies it.  I used to wonder why such a terrible feeling would have overtaken me as I enjoyed a peaceful, warm, summer day when I shouldn’t have had a care in the world.  Now I feel that the beautiful moment accompanied by its conflicting, painful memory is the perfect metaphor for life.  It’s full of good and bad, happy and sad, but they come together in life so I’ll take them both if that’s all I can have.

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