It Won’t Matter; I’ll Be Dead
My dad’s brutally honest wisdom on living, loving, and letting go.
“Life…you’ll never get out of it alive.” I’m not sure who coined this phrase but it seems to be loosely connected to Truman Capote.
Regardless, it keeps resurfacing for me. It pops into my head when I’m making tea or watching birds in the back yard. There’s something sticky about it. Like a grimy hand leaving a film of residue on the wall. I can’t scrub it from my mind.
I wonder, what did you feel when you read it. Did you smirk at the bleak wit? Reject it as crass?
Or, did it simply ring true?
The end of life.
It’s something we shrink from. And, please, let’s not talk about it.
It’s frightening. It’s dark. It’s final.
Do I fear death? In a way, yes. I fear it because upon my demise, I will no longer be witness to the precious lives of those I love. And that makes my heart ache.
And yet, it makes me wonder…what would happen if we viewed it from a different perspective?
My dad’s life wasn’t easy, but he worked with what came his way, learned what he needed to learn, and kept his head up when he couldn’t control the outcome. He acknowledged his mistakes and found a way to forgive his own short-comings.
Maybe at some point, he mentioned the quote to me.
In hindsight, I see how he leaned into it. He treated life like a grand experience. Learning from it and then moving on. The good, the bad, the ugly parts that maybe he would have requested a ‘do-over’ on.
So many times, he asked me, “Why hold onto it? You can’t take it with you to the grave.”
Wise man.
I think back to all the stages of my life; my own good, bad, and ugly experiences. The hours I spent trying to force answers to my questions. Worrying about where I was in life and what would come next. Anxious about missing the boat altogether.
And maybe none of it matters at all. Honestly? Maybe it’s pointless to fight so hard for things that we can’t pack into our afterlife luggage.
Maybe the point is to experience what comes, hold it dearly while it lasts, and then release it to experience something else. Life is full of new experiences, but we cling so tightly to moments and things that don’t truly belong to us outside of this day, this life.
Yes, life is fleeting. And isn’t that what makes it so precious?
The ones we love that we’re desperately afraid to lose. The ones we’ve relied on our whole lives. Our pillars of strength, our guides, our anchors. The thought can tear your existence to shreds.
Yet, if we love them deeply while we’re free to love them, it may be easier to accept when it is time to let go.
I can see how that sounds deeply insensitive. How can we ever separate ‘easily’? Can we say we’ve loved at all if it doesn’t tear us apart at the loss?
I don’t know. But I will share this with you because it changed my perspective, even if it doesn’t change yours.
Before my dad left this world, he told me he was ready to go. He experienced his life as best he could and understood that he couldn’t take everything with him to his grave. He knew it with a certainty and he accepted it.
His next words floored me. Initially, they felt cruel, considering how much we’d miss him, but I feel like part of me understands now. And knowing my dad like I did, it actually makes me laugh and feel a sense of peace in remembering it.
He said, with a smirk on his face, “It’s not going to matter because I’ll be dead.” So matter-of-fact. So much my dad.
Proof that he embraced the natural circle of life. Not something to be feared. Just something that is.
So sure, we can plan, protect, and strategize. We can live with a world of stress and anxiety on our shoulders. Maybe these are inherent with our society, with our current world.
We can cling, or we can loosen our grip and find freedom. Because forms come and go, but love lasts beyond our lifetime.
So, maybe that’s the lesson tucked inside the humor. We’re not here to hoard time or control outcomes. We’re here to live, to love, to laugh when we can, and to let go when it’s time.
My dad knew that. He didn’t grip onto life with white knuckles. He met it, he lived it, and then he released it.
Maybe that’s the only real freedom we get. To stop wrestling with life and start dancing with it. Because, after all…you’ll never get out of it alive.
What would it feel like if we stopped fighting to make life fit, and started holding it lightly, knowing it was never ours to keep in the first place?
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