Poof and It's Gone

Poof and It’s Gone

John Paul Derryberry

I hadn't witnessed my dad move that quick in a long time. He had his driver's license back and drove me to a friend's house to play basketball. My 14-year-old self loved seeing him behind the wheel again with his smirk. The radio was on oldies but not loud enough to hear what was playing. I always imagined it was the Temptations. He loved the Temptations, but how could anyone not love their music. Being in a car just with my dad and me was a treat and a long road back for him.

And that is the last memory I have of my father. He died in a car accident about a week later. So the memory of the time between my still-to-this-day, favorite car ride ever and his death is a little fuzzy. But I know for sure that car ride with him was the last interaction between my father and me that remained stored in my memory vault. It's a moment I spend a lot of time within my head as an almost 40-year-old father. Looking at my intelligent, caring, compassionate, beautiful wife and my two curious, spit-fire daughters, it's a moment that bring back all the emotions-- great joy, sorrow, anger, and calmness. It's a breath of air we all need, the reminder that in a moment, it can be poof, and it's gone.

As a 23-year-old, new professional in social work, a soon-to-be-retired social worker looked at me and stated, "You're an old soul, John. Somehow you get what's essential in life, even while experiencing your youth." I trace that back to that car ride and the death that followed. Knowing at age 14, that great moments don't last, and meaningful relationships can be here one day and then not the next, can cause a refocus on how we interact with the world.

I struggled to live with and process the intense emotions accompanying grief and mental and emotional health. I had to grow and relearn happiness and compassion and fight the urge to react with anger for a long time. But never once did I forget the notion that life can be here one day and gone the next. We must conduct ourselves differently in relationships because of this. We must embrace letting people know how we feel about them and forgive more often then we hold onto grudges and see people and ourselves as complex individuals and not monolithic creatures. We have great moments of triumph and severe doubts about who we are that can occur all in one day.

We shouldn't throw caution to the wind all the time, but sometimes we should, more than we probably do. We should grow, try new things, goof off, and attempt stupid things with lovely people, all while knowing some regular housing keeping must occur. Just remember that it can't get in the way of good stuff; laundry will still be there tomorrow. Because if you are finding yourself in a sweet spot of life with love, compassion, and peace, it will be gone one day, sooner than anyone wants. You'll say to yourself, did I enjoy the ride enough? And you'll ask yourself that a lot. Trust me, I do all the time.

Hopefully, some of us can learn how to answer that question yes, more than no. I enjoyed that ride with my father. I probably think about that memory once a week. But, I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I had realized it would be the last. And that's the danger of thinking things won't end. You'll wake up and it went poof and is gone forever. We will be left with memories, and I want those memories to be of one fantastic ride.