The Subtle Illusion of Time (Or a Grandson’s Regret)

After the second vibration I knew it wasn’t a text message. My phone was ringing. I struggled the phone out of my pocket. It was my father. He knows I’m working, I thought. I answered.

“Your Grandmother passed away,” he said.

It was ten days before Thanksgiving.

There’s always something about the loss of a loved one that puts everything in clear perspective. It provides a moment of pause. A calm questioning of what really matters. A time of reflection. A time to be with your family and feelings. An opportunity to stress-test your priorities. To ask one’s self what’s truly meaningful in the end.

It can be so easy to avoid painful emotions. To numb ourselves, because we think our avoidance will last. We keep “busy” and “productive.” Not allowing any time to grieve, or even to simply FEEL what we’re feeling.

We always think we’ll have time. We’ll have time to reconnect with that once-close friend. We’ll have time to apologize to the family member we hurt. We’ll have time to fix that broken relationship. We’ll have time to make up for not being present enough. We’ll have time to spend with our aging parents. We’ll have time, we assume.

On frequent occasions I can remember my father admonishing: “You know, you should really go see your grandmother.”

“I will,” I’d say, laughing.

I thought I had time.

I never got the chance to. I hadn’t seen her in years.

Last-minute travel plans are arranged. I have to go, I tell myself. Out of a mixture of guilt and respect. According to the stamp in my passport I haven’t been to St. Maarten since August 2011. And even then, I don’t recall seeing her. Family from the United Kingdom all the way to Baltimore, Maryland are flying back home. Grandma Olivia would be buried the day after Thanksgiving.

After the emotional funeral proceedings, the entire convoy headed to the burial ground where Grandma would be laid to rest. Her casket would be entombed above her late husband (my grandfather) Silred Archibald Ruan.

Hold anything up against death and it suddenly seems trivial. Death is the penultimate equalizer. Death forces us to slow down on the superhighway of life. It makes us exit at the nearest rest stop to recalibrate.

Of Olivia’s eighteen grandchildren, thirteen were present on the island. I hadn’t seen some cousins in years. It was a family reunion in a lot of ways. The first half of the trip was thick with grief and mourning. The second half, filled with laughter, beach trips, delicious food, smiles and shared memories never to be forgotten.

Being among the youngest of eighteen grandchildren I didn’t know my grandmother as well as older cousins — some decades older than me. But they shared their stories. They shared treasured gems of wisdom Grandma Olivia would say. They shared how hilarious and witty she was up into old age. They shared what she taught them. Things they will never forget. Lessons they will teach their own children. They shared their love for her.

And my heart was full. And it still is. The entire experience reiterated how important it is to live meaningfully — however YOU genuinely define it. It’s not about straining to impress people that don’t even know you. Holding up and maintaining a false image of yourself is not only toxic but horribly exhausting. It’s okay to put down the facade. To breathe a little easier.

Be your authentic self. Be around people that sincerely care about your well-being. Laugh often. Laugh with your tribe. Hold no grudges. Dance your wild heart out. Start that business. Record that song. Take those pictures. Book that trip. Go on adventures. Smile at a complete stranger. Introduce yourself to your crush. Talk a walk. Go for a run. Dive deep into a good book. Do things that bring you joy. Find joy and keep it close.

None of us are leaving this life-thing alive. Be kind. Don’t be an asshole. Our time is finite. But that’s also what makes it so incredibly precious.

My grandmother lived to be ninety-three-years- old. She is survived by six children, eighteen grandchildren, and more than ten great-grandchildren and counting. And she was beautiful every step of the way. That’s a legacy. I’m still learning from her.

“Legacy, legacy, legacy, legacy / Black excellence, you gon’ let ’em see.” (Shawn “Jay-Z” Carter, “Legacy”)

JSR.