Transitioning

 This is a very strange and important time in my life.

I certainly had not anticipated being in Ohio this past weekend.

My plan had been to have my book just about ready to publish at this point so I could release it on Black Friday. That’s now 5 days away and I’m still waiting on things that are out of my hands. It may well be that I don’t make this deadline, but I won’t worry about something I have little control over. Plus, I am still riding the high of getting the final render of my art, finishing the rough draft of book #3, finishing the audio for the audiobook, having finished the plotting of book #4… For the first time in my life I feel like I could actually be something. This, writing, is what I was born to do, what I want to do. 

But life is more than writing.

And it doesn’t last forever.

When I got a call from the hospice telling me my dad is in the final stages of his “transition,” I dropped everything (almost literally—I was helping a friend move) and made the 5-hour drive here. He hadn’t opened his eyes in a week, his body had started shutting down, and he hadn’t responded to anyone in days. They told me the end was “imminent.” When I arrived, he was only taking about 5 breaths a minute and his oxygen levels were very low. But he did open up his eyes and look at me. For about 3 minutes I could have believed that he was about to get up and ask what we were all standing around for. Now he is resting, the “little death” of sleep. 

They call it “transitioning” and I can see why. It is comforting, for us and for our departing loved ones. For those of us who are religious, it reminds us of the hereafter. And it evokes a feeling of change. The change in the transitioner is obvious, but it is also a change for those left behind. We must take the lessons their life taught us and forge ahead, bringing their good with us. It is a time to think back on all the ways they changed us and vice versa.

There comes a point when there are more memories made than to be made—none of us really want to think about that and so we don’t, not until it is near the end. I may well be there now. Thinking back, dad has lived a good life. He was a good man, a good role model. At times, his was a lesson on what not to do, but even when he failed, he didn’t give up. When I pass, I want those made memories to be good ones, for me and for my loved ones.

So, it is not a bad thing that I will likely miss this deadline of mine. Even if I had total control over it, life events like this one are more important. But I will remember the lessons he taught me. I will not give up. This roller coaster of emotions is temporary and will pass. And perhaps the high of getting published is in some way negating the feeling of loss. I like to think, however, that it is the good memories doing that. As my dad continues his transition, and I continue my own, I will keep those good memories in mind.