For those who know me (and as I've alluded to in my previous posts), I have undergone some massive changes in my life as of late. Without really getting into what those 'changes' are, let's just say a simple walk up a hill quickly turned into a treacherous mountain climb. At several times during this arduous journey, I wondered whether I was doing the right thing. Something began festering within me, and after Labor Day of 2012 that struggle had finally spilled over. I had decided to execute my plans, knowing full well that some people would be hurt and probably never speak to me again. The last thing I ever want is to hurt anyone, even people who might have wronged me in the past. I also knew that my decision would affect several people's lives permanently -- again, not something that I would ever want to do under any circumstance. If I make a mistake, I would rather it be me that suffers than someone I care for, but due to the nature and depth of change I deemed necessary at this point in my life, there was no way to avoid what lay ahead. I knew several things were in the balance and a slight move in any direction would cause the entire house of cards to tumble. Despite the nagging conundrum, I took a deep breath, prayed and went forward with everything, realizing that I had only two choices: to continue down the road I was going and remain unhappy or take my life into my own hands for the betterment of my future.
Near the end of 2011, there were three significant deaths that not only occurred during the holiday season, but also within roughly four weeks of each other. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas I lost my father, T. Lee Boyd, Jr., my dog "Greta" and my godfather/longtime mentor, Rev. Thomas M. Gannon, SJ. The deaths of these three were significant and made me remember that not only is life precious, but if taken for granted, can be filled with regret and unfulfilled promise. My father's death was significant because losing a parent is a profound moment in any child's life, but in my dad's case (and according to a relative who talked to me about something he said just days before he left this world) he took all that had burdened him for years to his grave. We were estranged from one another for many years, and though I knew I could not remain in his life any longer, you still have love for your parents if you are of good character. Greta was my little girl, my angel, who had two loving daddies, a nice home and was spoiled rotten. She woke us up in the middle of the night because she knew she was about to die and didn't want to do so in front of us. She didn't make it to her destination and collapsed on our bedroom floor, her loving and vivacious spirit leaving us behind. And finally -- Father Tom; a man whom I had known since the age of 18 who literally saved my life. I was a young man who felt misunderstood at home and was exceptionally unsure of himself in every way, but through his steady hand and loving counsel, I was shaped by him into a balanced man who has gone on to do some pretty cool things. Losing him was like being shot in the chest, especially since I was a mere three days away from visiting him at his residence near Detroit. Of the three, Father Tom's death affected me the most and the agony of finding out he was gone was as hard as it gets.
Shortly thereafter, I had received my graduate degree from City College. While taking in the moment, I started to realize the importance of where I was and that I should take a long look at where I'm headed with my life. As I took time and looked deep within myself, I thought of those three individuals who had died. I thought of dad, who took his regrets with him. I thought of Greta, who lived her life with such zest. I thought of Father Tom, who was elegant and sophisticated, yet as down to earth as it came. "Pops" - as I always called him - could draw people toward him like a moth to a flame, and there was no subject where he couldn't hold his own in mixed company. As I held my MFA degree in my hands like a newborn child, I realized that if I want to live a life outside the box, of growth, of purpose and devoid of regret, I had to make some hard choices that would be very unpopular with some. At my worst moment, I actually went to church and tried to pray all of this away, but that was not the answer that God had given me. At the end of the day, I finally accepted that the only constant in life is change, and that if I didn't start the process now, I would live a life of regret and unfulfilled promise that was every bit as taxing on my soul as it was for my father. I made the unpopular choice and began my plans for a different life from the one I had.
Though the months have passed since the start of this renaissance, I still struggle -- not with the decision to move forward, but whether or not I am being good to those affected as well as myself. Treating myself well has always been hard, but I'm working on it. I'm not used to worrying about ME first, and oftentimes I've thrown my needs over for someone else, even when they aren't always kind and actually deserve a harsh word from me. However, I'm reminded of something Pops once said to me shortly before he passed: "Davey, you've been at this station, waiting for the train to arrive for a long time. It's not the fact that you can see a train coming that scares you, but the realization that it might be the one you're waiting for."
He was right. My train had arrived. The doors opened. The conductor called his next station and I had no choice but to get on...
dtb
