Sometimes, when I start to cry hard, I like to sit in my dad’s closet, or go into his office. I like to be somewhere that reminds me of him because it makes me feel he is closer. Death seems so far away, an unimaginable distance. When I was in his office last, I found myself surrounded by and in complete awe of the number of books he has written over the years.

Until that moment, I had never taken the time to realize how amazing it is that he wrote all those books. As I sat alone and let myself cry and miss him, I started to pick up each book and examined it closely. I opened each book up a few times to various random pages and skimmed the words on each page. After I finished, I noticed that on each page of each book, no matter what page I turned to, the words written were astoundingly beautiful. Each word brought me a sense of peace, comfort and even contentment. The wisdom in his words is hard to describe. My daddy had this amazing unique way of communicating the concepts of happiness to people, some very abstract ideas, presenting them very simply through his words through his voice. Everything he says just flows so beautifully, gracefully and calmly.

It’s strange because all these years, I never knew what all the fuss was about? So many people would constantly come up to me and comment about how my dad “changed their life” or how “brilliant” he is or what an “amazing writer” he is. I never understood what they meant and at times I even found it a bit annoying. I mean, he was just daddy to me. It was hard to see him as others did. Now, I can see it.

My understanding of the importance of ideas and words and their link will buoy my survival during this period and my journey into college to the importance of teaching and learning – these are the essentials to a life well lived. Reading and writing are not just a means to a grade, they are the means to zap a connection between two or hundreds or even millions of people.

I will never look back and say “I wish I did that differently” or “I wish I spent more time with him,” or ever experience any sense of regret, because my dad and I lived our relationship to the absolute fullest. Whether it was some intense, political conversation we engaged in, or a light-hearted laugh, I treasure every memory I have with him because despite what we were doing, or what we were talking about, it was with him and that alone means it was quality time spent. This too, this sense of deep engagement with those around me about matters of substance as well as just the day-to-day, I intend to take with me to college.

This brings me to the question of self-pity. I think Joan Didion’s words are profound. In a single sentence, “the question of self-pity,” she sums up what the entire human experience can be hinged upon. I know because I wrestle with it daily. Put your guard up too much, then you’re not getting the full experience of life. Indulge it too much, then you risk falling into the void and never coming back.

It’s weird because a lot of people my age don’t know how to handle something like this. They feel sorry for me and I hate being pitied. I hate the feeling of everyone looking at me waiting for something to crack. I can sincerely say that my dad’s death has by far been the hardest, most tragic occurrence of my entire life. All the things I once thought were such a “big deal” no longer come even close in comparison.

This, again, brings me to “the question of self-pity.” Even more so than “to be, or not to be,” the answer to the question of self-pity can lead to something even worse than “not being.” To over-indulge the desire for self-pity can throw a person into the dark abyss leading to a life of numbness. To hide from the pain and over-protect is also to lead a life of waste. To truly live means to face down the question of self-pity.

I certainly don’t have the answer; I just know that it is important to anticipate the question. I know that the question will come back again and again as a part of being alive. I don’t have any pithy profound nuggets of wisdom to offer yet, maybe I never will. I do know that I will get through this, that much I can feel from deep within. More significantly, I have learned that if I can get through this, I can get through anything. I also know that I am in the process of becoming truly fearless. It’s almost as if you can’t live fully until you’ve experienced a significant amount of pain or suffering.

I have learned that when it feels as if everything has stopped and yet I haven’t that means I’m moving, even when it seems almost in spite of myself. If I’m moving, then I’m living, and if I’m living, then I’m going to make the most out of it. I can either stop living, give up and spend the rest of my life missing and wanting my daddy back. Or, I can do what I know my dad would want for me more than anything and that is to continue living my life in the most rich, fulfilled, passionate and remarkable way possible.
~Jazzy Carlson
(Daughter of the late Richard Carlson)

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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