Post from the Vault: I wrote this post exactly a year ago today, but didn’t post it at the time. I sat on it, to let it marinate and to see if I would feel differently in a year, two years, three years, etc. I hope it speaks to you the same way it spoke to me to write and re-read it.
Love is a choice. You wake up, and you choose it, day after day. You choose to love someone, to sacrifice, to give of your heart outwardly. It’s a seed that must be watered and cared for consistently. And I suppose that’s why it breaks you so deeply to lose someone you love. You’ve poured yourself into them, and with them they took a piece of you.
When my dad left this earth, he took so much of me with him. I have a hole that is endless in depth, and impossible to fill. Like an insatiable thirst, I search day after day for things that can mitigate the gnawing pain. Nothing lasts.
About 10 times a day I ask myself what the point is. Why am I going through the motions without him here. And I start to ask myself the age old question about the meaning of life. No one knows the key, but everyone has a guess. To some, being alive is to love and be loved. I know for my dad that was very much the case. All he ever wanted in life was a family, and it took him much longer than most to get it. He was 34 when he met my mom and 36 when he had his first child, but boy did it fulfill him deeply. I’ve recently been looking at old photos and all I see when I look back at family vacations was the joy in his smile. That man was always radiating a smile as big as the moon when he was around us. I especially adore the photos of him with myself and my brother as babies. You can practically see the serotonin and dopamine overflowing from his brain.
And in those moments I get it, I see it; the meaning of life. I see it within him. But somehow it doesn’t translate to this version of life. Or at least, I don’t know where to find it. Everyone tells me it’s still here, but I’m too lost in the fog of grief to see it. It feels like when my dad left he took the meaning of life with him, and now I’m stuck here seeing a darker version of this 3D world spin around.
Maybe my revised meaning of life is to find peace. We are thrust into an existence that is mostly chaos, and the best we can do is aim for peace. It’s the yin to the yang of reality. And I need peace to survive more than I need love. A man can live in a cabin in the wilderness all alone with complete contentment if he has peace. And a person in chronic pain will suffer even with all the love in the world on tap. Love misses the point of why we are here; why we exist. On it’s own it isn’t enough to make earth a place I seek to stay. It’s peace that humans need to keep spinning on the wheel of life.
Where do I find peace? Right now, I’m not sure.
Love Is A Choice
This is so beautiful
You will find peace if you choose to find it everyday. Being loved is supportive but not fulfilling. One must choose to love themselves, and one must choose to love others. You sound like someone who many are fond of, whom many love, and whom shares her love selectively. Don’t let the world harden you. Find that peace. Let it grow to great lengths. Then use that to choose love again.