winter 2009

i was literally buried alive one summer under a half ton of topsoil that my dad, who had a hauling business as a hobby, was dumping in our backyard for the betterment of our lawn. i was playing behind the truck, thinking i would be buried up to my neck in dirt as the bed tilted ever higher. it seemed like an impressive image in my mind.

instead, the entire load shifted in one swoop knocking me off my feet and covering me. i remember screaming to no avail and was told that a neighbor saw what had happened and hopped our fence and pulled me out by the one ankle that was sticking out of the mound of dirt. my dad's first reaction was to wonder just what his son was thinking. and then that reaction gave way to relief that i was rescued in time. it was dark and suffocating and it felt like that might have been it for me. all at the age of seven.

at age thirteen, our mother died suddenly of a heart attack a week before christmas. it was also my parent's twenty-fifth anniversary. that also felt like that might have been it for me. the subsequent years were blurry and marred by frequent drug and alcohol use and a struggle to understand why the world was as it was. music was the only place where life made sense. where love and beauty seemed timeless and safe.

when you learn at such a young age the meaning of the word "finite", it becomes impossible at times to make sense of this life. but the world that each of us knows, the one that pours through our senses and into our brains is unique to each of us - our own private universe. our default setting is to think of ourselves as the center of this existence, which hardly seems unfair, but it's a myopic view at the very least, and perhaps why the tenet of most major religious beliefs is to curb that view.

death seems like a beautiful release from the burden of living. i've had several relatives remark that they're surprised that 'god hasn't called for me yet'. i never suggest that they could book their own ticket, but for me, that purchase button is never too far away and i always view it with a mixture of relief and cowardice. and still, late at night i lie awake and wonder just how quiet and peaceful it will be.

our friends and family seem to be the one thing that might give this life a sense of purpose and meaning, although to someone who's seen a loved one die, that sense can get lost quite easily. so i try and remember what my dad told me during one of those long, sad winters. he said the one dream our mom had was for us to have a happy, meaningful life. and so i keep trying.

for her.