Thanks Dad

No, I’m not preoccupied with the thought of death. Really I’m not. However, I recently turned 48 and sitting with my family this Easter, (because that’s what all Buddhist families do on the holiday, have a big Easter dinner) my sister asked me how old I was. She immediately turned to my mother and said, “Wasn’t that the age that daddy died? Then, in true comedic fashion that is characteristic to my family, she smiles and makes a face to me, as if saying, “You better watch out!”

I was a baby when he was lost to stomach cancer. It was one of those “You’ve got a year to live” type deals that you might see in the movies. There is a single picture of him holding me in his arms. The story goes that while taking the picture he said to my mother that he was grateful that he would have at least one Christmas with me before he went. He died in January, I was nine months old.

The funeral was a terribly sad affair, especially with a nine month old baby crying during the horribly morose Buddhist death chant. It’s too bad no one took any film of it. I would have really liked to see it.

As it turns out, his death was actually the vehicle that led me to a better life. His small life insurance benefit allowed my mother to move out of Uptown Chicago that was once labeled the worst neighborhood in America by Time magazine (I think). She bought a three flat and we moved about a mile north from the majority of gangs, transvestites and hookers.

From what I understand, my father was a hard drinking, disciplinarian with a quick temper and a penchant for getting himself into trouble. It’s funny how genes work. I’ve never met the man and yet we seem so much alike. In some ways it feels like he lives within me somehow, but maybe that isn’t a good thing. I feel fortunate that his death did allow me to move away from what could have been a very hard existence in a very bad part of town. Judging from stories he was never a very loving or affectionate father, so in the long run, I might have been better off, but who can say for certain?

Reflecting on all of this makes me imagine a world for my wife and kids without me and how things would turn out. It’s both strange and reassuring to know that they will be okay and I’ve done the best that I could for them. Here I go again, scaring my friends into thinking I’m looking out over the window ledge. No, I don’t have a death wish but I really don’t have any passion for life either. (Stop! No one needs to email or comment on your concerns) I’m simply comforted in the fact that my children will be fine without me whenever that time comes. Maybe I WAS one of those who were looking forward to the Rapture after all.

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