When I walked out the door every morning to leave for school, I always assumed that when I came back everything would be the same as when I woke up that morning. Now I know, regrettably, that life doesn’t work that way. Everything might be indescribably perfect one day, then the next, everything else could fall apart. It’s almost as if life can just stop right in the midst of a fairytale, and the only option you have is to start all over from the very beginning in an entirely different life.
On December 13th, 2006 the most essential man in my life-my best friend-my role-model-my daddy… died. For seventeen years, things were great—they were beyond great. Sure, there were a few speed bumps in the road here and there, but none that blew out the tire completely. Don’t get me wrong, I am more than appreciative for all of those fortunate years I was able to experience living in utter contentment and bliss. However, it doesn’t change the fact that the fairytale I once knew no longer exists.
Now is the first time I have ever truly felt that life has actually stopped. And yet, it hasn’t.
That phone call from my mom; the sound of her voice, the way I could hear my heart beating and ringing in my ears, the way my heart fell into the core of my stomach… the news I heard that day was the one thing I had always dreaded hearing for as long as I could remember. But dread does not keep it from happening.
There was a gap of time, a clarity I will always remember, a stillness between delivery and comprehension. It’s not reality. It’s not a dream. It’s not even a nightmare because within the sensation of emptiness, something keeps going. It is a pulse in the middle of white. I could reach out and touch the person in front of me. I could feel the phone in my hand. I even sensed the heft of the tears in my eyes waiting to burst, yet the next part, whatever that is, couldn’t happen. Time had stopped, yet I was moving and breathing. Time had stopped and yet I hadn’t. Something huge has ended and yet it had not ended me.
He wasn’t just a “dad.” He was the dad. He went above and beyond his “father curriculum” and taught me far more than I ever dreamed of learning. And the amazing part was, he never had to teach me by actually telling me. All I had to do was watch this amazing person – my dad – do what he did, which was love. He loved everyone around him. Even the people he really didn’t “love,” he still loved. That might sound like a contradiction, but he would find some way to look past the negativity, whatever that negativity was, and he’d find a way to turn it around. He was one of the few people who truly practiced what he preached.
He didn’t just get lucky and score big on his books from a few wise words that he randomly came up with one day. He actually truthfully knew how to make people establish peace and even bliss in their lives. What an amazing quality to have – he had the capability of changing someone’s entire life through his words… Not just someone’s life, millions of lives.
Such a man can be said to wield a lot of influence, yet you would never have known it if you knew my dad. My dad had a genuine humility and energy that was so contagious, you could feel it the second you came into contact with him. His energy was vibrant, yet calm at the same time. His laugh was infectious, his smile gentle. He was clearly exhilarated by the experience of being alive and had the power to infect others with his passion.
Yet, for all his fame and influence, my father taught me the power of words, teaching, and love – not the power of power. This is what I carry with me on my journey to college. This is what I keep in mind when school or even just the little mundane things seem utterly inconsequential. Words matter. Ideas and love are the vehicles toward being the best we can be as a species in this beautiful miracle of an opportunity to live in this world.
~Jazzy Carlson
(Daughter of the late Richard Carlson)
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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