It’s kind of a stupid, unanswerable question, isn’t it?
The morning my grandfather died, my cousin and I texted about peppers.
I followed up with him about it later that evening. Is it weird? Opa died today and we’re messaging about habaneros?
Maybe a little. He said.
The decline of my grandfather, or Opa as his 16 grandchildren called him, was unfortunate. It took longer than necessary and was painful, emotionally and physically, for everyone involved, namely him. Despite it all, I was told that his last moments were quite lovely. He took a simple breath in, a simple breath out, and that was that. Peaceful and quiet, his wife by his side. 90 years of hard work, adventure, pain, laughter, love, heartache, confusion, security, insecurity, and all the bumps and bobbles in between, culminated with one final breath.
I didn’t get to see him. In fact, I had only seen him once in the previous 3 or so years, in between the pandemic, my relocation to Mexico, and that freelance life that has often rendered me unable to purchase a flight to the US. His death was expected, a piece of information I was waiting almost daily to receive. When I did get the news, I felt relieved. For him, for my grandmother, and for the family.
Which makes me wonder what kind of a person I am.
I’ve cried multiple times over the last few days, none of which are related to his passing. I’m seriously concerned about money. I'm in love with a man that I cannot be with. I'm finding it impossible to get along with my aging father. My sleep is disrupted as a result of overthinking all of this, so I’m rather fragile and my tears are falling much more freely than I’m comfortable with.
My Opa died. Yet here I am, crying over everything else.
Contrary to how it sounds, I do feel something about it. It’s just not sadness per se, which is the expected emotional reaction to death. One of the smartest men I’ve known, my Opa experienced so much in his 9 decades that I find inspiring. He was a wrestler, a soldier, a widely-regarded businessman, a bilingual, a traveler, an avid reader, a father to 4, a stepfather to 5 more, and an intellectual. He was always doing and learning and thriving. He had quite the life and in my eyes, it was an overall success. My Opa “carpe diemed”, if you will. When I think about him, I actually feel, well, happy.
Is that wrong?
It’s funny that even in my 39th year, I’m still faced with so many contemplations and situations I’ve never been faced with before. Just when I feel fully confident in myself, another curve ball is thrown my way and I’m forced to wonder if I’m doing this whole life thing “right”.
Which is very likely exactly what my Opa was thinking as he edged closer to his transition.
It’s kind of a stupid, unanswerable question, isn’t it? There is no “right” way to do it outside of being as good a person as you can. There isn’t a life training session or exit interview to evaluate how well you did. There is not one person on this planet who unequivocally knows what the fuck we’re doing here. Mass murderers and the like aside, is there really a way to do it “wrong”? Can’t we just “do it”? In our own way?
Maybe the goal isn’t to “do the life thing right”, maybe the goal is something else that YOU get to choose. Like, magic. Or happiness. Or adventure. Or love. Or all of the above.
I imagine this is the key. To just do it in a way that feels genuine to you. That way we aren’t wasting time trying to answer unanswerable questions.
Live in magic, live in love, live in adventure. If that’s your KPI, living “right” will be a byproduct. Right?
With love,
Bethany
