It’s been almost two months now. Two very long months. While this time of the year is no doubt always the most difficult time of the year for me to struggle through, this year is worse than most. While I continually tell myself that “next year is going to be better”, that never seems to materialize. And this year is no exception.

My Mom passed away at the beginning of October and to be honest, I think it has yet to fully sink in. Perhaps it’s because I want so badly for it not to be ‘real’. Just a bad dream, a nightmare, one that if I only scream loud enough, I’ll wake myself up and everything will be ok. But just as in all of those ultra awful nightmares that we’ve all had from time to time, noone else can hear me scream, especially the one person that I want more than anyone to hear me, my Mom. So, rather than continue to scream, I continue to sob.

Sometimes uncontrollably and most times for no apparent reason. It doesn’t take much to trigger it. Just a thought will do it and on goes the water works. Stopping is another thing entirely. I only wish I could stop it as fast as it started but just as I don’t know for sure why it started, all I can do is let it run its course and eventually the valve will shut itself off. Never quite soon enough though, that’s for sure.

I had gotten into a habit of sorts, a routine of upon waking in the morning, the first thing I would do is grab my phone and call my Mom. Second nature, just part of my morning ritual. But just like any habit, it’s been a tough one to break. As soon as my eyes open, my hand immediately reaches for the phone and then almost as quickly, I feel pain coming from my phone, passing through my arm and straight to my heart. Her number is right there, one click away. Unfortunately, no matter how many times I dial it, she won’t answer. Ever again.

So I set the phone down, two raging rivers flowing down my cheeks and the reality of never hearing my Moms voice again hits me like a Mack truck. How could I have done this again? Haven’t I learned anything over these last fifty plus days? Why am I not getting the drift here? With all this influx of intense pain, you’d think I’d get a clue by now. But no, like any self respecting glutton, I continue to go back for my daily dose of heartache. Perhaps some day I’ll learn and I hope it’s soon.

I was blessed to have been able to speak to my Mom a few days before she passed away.  By that point she was being heavily medicated and shortly after that her dosages were so heavy that all she really did was sleep. Which to be honest I’m grateful that she was able to avoid any needless pain.

So I am truly grateful that I was able to enjoy that conversation with her. And to have that be my final memory of her, if I have to have a final memory, then a wonderful conversation is what I will take with me for the rest of my days. I wasn’t able to say goodbye to my Dad. The news came in a phone call. A phone call from my Mom. Not being able to say goodbye to him has left a void in my heart over these last eight years that although time has done a bit of smoothing out of the jagged edges, it’s still such a deep wound that I have a strong feeling it will never fully heal.

The only thing that is for sure is the fact that it’s too late to do anything about it and so it is entirely up to me how I handle it. I can either choose to wallow in the sorrow of all the ‘what ifs’ and woulda coulda shouldas or I can make the decision to move forward with my life as all the wishing and hoping will not bring back the chance to say goodbye. It’s just something that I will have to live with.

And while my Moms passing hasn’t actually sunk in yet, there is one feeling that has made its undeniable presence known, a feeling which I wasn’t by any means prepared for and that is one of completely overwhelming, all encompassing emptiness. Just an undescribable, hollow feeling that has permeated all aspects of my life. Much more than a feeling of loss per se, which although noone could ever be completely prepared for that, I had expected to feel a sense of loss but this runs much deeper than that. Much deeper.

My Mom had been sick for quite some time so we were aware to some degree of her illness. Now, with that being said, I wasn’t fully aware of just how sick she truly was. I’ll be the first to admit that alot of that I’m sure had to do with my own denial. I have been known to stick my head in the sand in an effort to avoid reality, especially when it comes to heartache and loss and I’m sure there was a bunch of that going on here. But I also have to think that she didn’t completely let on exactly how sick she was. Then again, maybe she did and I was busy eating sand and didn’t hear her. Either way, I wasn’t prepared. At least not anywhere near as well as I should have been.

And no matter how prepared you think you’re going to be, there’s just no way to gauge the magnitude of losing a parent. The impact and the feeling of loss is just immesurable, even after the fact. And I’m sure it will be for quite some time. Maybe even forever, it’s too early to tell. But it’s this emptiness, this unbearable feeling of just being utterly ‘gutted’ that I was by no means prepared for. I’ve been riding a seriously ugly roller coaster from hell these last two years and one thing I’ve learned is not to question how much worse it can get because without a doubt, just as soon as you utter those words, it will get much worse and in a major hurry!

I lost most if not all of my motivation for life a couple years ago, basically just wanting to give up and if I ended up living on the streets, no big deal. That’s how much I cared. I didn’t. But I was able to push my way through the fog, to find my “Why”, to create a new dream to chase, pick myself up off the ground, dust off my pants and continue to trudge forward with some sort of a purpose. It took everything I had to pull myself out of my ‘funk’  but I managed to do it. Yet, this is something completely different. The meaning of “Why” has completely changed. For me it has anyway.

As I look back and reflect on her life, as much as I know of it anyway, one thing that seems to rise to the top, to stand above everything else. Good or bad, like a Lighthouse beacon, blindingly bright is the one question that I find myself continually asking, “Is this all there is? That’s it, over and done, nothing else to it?”

I’ve been unable to escape this haunting feeling since she passed. Absolutely unable to shake it. No matter what I do, I continue to run through the ‘movie’ that was her life. We all have struggles, as well as hardships in life but I have to believe that my Mom experienced more than her fair share. Yet she never seemed to wallow in it, at least not in front of me she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t want me to know of her heartbreaks and inner troubles.

My Mom was the nicest, most loving, caring and giving person you could ever hope to meet. She would do anything for her friends and family. But don’t mistake her for a pushover as she wouldn’t hesitate to let you know you had done something to upset her. Yet this post isn’t about my Mom and the person she was but more about the huge void that has been created by her passing.

As I mentioned earlier, this feeling is with me every waking moment. There seems to be no escaping it. I continue to think about the microcosm that was her life, the highs, the lows, the triumphs, the heartaches, her entire lifes journey on this planet and I continue to end up right back at the same place every time, wondering if this is truly all there is to life. We’re born, we struggle for a few years and then we pass away and hopefully, if we’re lucky enough, we’ll have a few family members and friends there at the end to say a few words in our honor. Other than that, it’s as if we were never even here. Never even existed. How lousy is that?

My Mom was very religious, thinking that the next chapter was going to be better and basically, from what I could gather anyway, that this adventure here on earth was only an initiation of sorts, a preparation for what was to come. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t buy into this theory of things being better next time around and so the sooner this ride ends, the sooner you can get to the better stuff. Nope, not buyin’ it.

I subscribe to the theory that I want to enjoy myself while I’m here on this adventure as well as wherever and whenever the next journey kicks in. But this feeling that there has to be more to life than merely being born, hangin’ around a few years and then moving on to Phase Two (or three or four) has created an overwhelming sense of urgency within me. As well as enhanced a knowingness that I had only recently begun to tap into. But now I’m diggin’ in full bore with a pick and a shovel! Heck, I’m even considering renting a Bobcat in an effort to make the digging go a whole lot faster.

I had recently been working on letting go of a lifetime of guilt. Guilt that kept me from pursuing my passions, from chasing my dreams. From living my life based on my true purpose. And I’m not here to blame anyone other than myself for this guilt. Sure, while I admit that my surroundings, both people and environment played a small part in quite a few of my life decsisions but no one is more to blame than I am. Nobody is more responsible for the decisions I’ve made and for creating this self induced guilt trip than I am. It’s just a shame that it took me so long to realize it. Like they say, I built my own prison and without a doubt, I’m the one that suffered the most because of it.

But again, I had already begun to dig myself out of this self induced ‘guilt pit’ but now I’m kickin’ it up a few notches and I’m going at it 110%, using any tool I can get my hands on that will help me escape this feeling of being buried alive. The last thing I want is to die with my ‘music’ still in me, it’s gotta come out! I don’t recall if it was Kill Bill #1 or #2 but I continue to think about Darryl Hannah layin’ in that wooden box, being buried alive and just kickin’ and punchin’, clawin’ her way to freedom. Just call me Darryl, that only fuels my fire more!

This is not to say that I have thrown reality and responsibility out the window for good, I’ve merely put them off to the side to be dealt with at a later date. This allows me to put my passions and my dreams at the top of my “to do immediately, if not sooner, no matter what it takes” list. Sure, there are a couple of ‘things’ that I’ve had to leave off of my list for now. And I say for now as I fully intend to come back to them in the future but not until I’m able to grab a Sharpie and start checking my Top Three off of my list.

One of my all time favorite sayings and I have no idea who said it originally or for that matter, if I even have it close to its original version but basically it says something to the effect of “When all is said and done, the only regrets you’ll have are the risks you didn’t take.” And one thing is for sure, the last thing on earth I want is to be laying on my death bed, asking myself, “Is this all there is?”

If you can relate to the feeling of the loss of a loved one, I’d enjoy hearing your thoughts and if you feel like this Post can add to anyone elses life, I’d appreciate it if you would share it with them. Thank you.

Has it been six and a half years already? I just can’t believe it, feels like only yesterday that I received news that would rock me to my very core. On November 14th, 2002 my Father passed away and I never got to say goodbye. He was gone forever.

As all of the thoughts that fill an entire lifetime came flooding into my head all I could really focus on was the fact that all of the things I had ever hoped to say to him would have to remain in my head, just thoughts. All the woulda coulda shouldas add up to a terrible regret that weighs just as heavy on my heart to this day as they did the night I received the call.

Growing up my Dad was a very ‘hardcore’ guy, a ‘perfectionist’ to say the least. Well that’s how it appeared to me anyway because I felt that no matter how hard I tried, my accomplishments, whether big or small were never good enough. My own pride wouldn’t allow me to do anything less than my best but somehow my best just wasn’t ever good enough for him. At least that’s how it came across as a kid growing up and searching for Dads ‘approval’. To this day I can’t ever remember him saying “Good job son, I’m proud of you” or heaven forbid “Son, I love you”. Yet time and again I tried my hardest to get his approval, thinking that somehow THIS might be the one time. Of course, it never came. He was a firm believer in ‘tough love’.

I began riding motorcycles at about 5 or 6 years old and started racing Motocross at about 7 or 8. My Dad also started racing about the same time. It was awesome, we finally had a common ‘bond’ and an interest that we were both passionate about. It also meant that we would be spending time together just about every weekend. My Mom was uncomfortable watching us race, feeling it was too dangerous so she never really went with us. She was right. I can still remember standing there by the ‘Big Jump’ at our local track as a good friend of mines Father was racing by and ‘flipped’ his bike over backwards, which seemed to me to be in ‘slow motion’ and at such a slow speed, how could he be hurt but yet it left him paralyzed from the waist down. I was too young to really understand the full impact of that at the time. What a terrible shame.

So my Dad and I continued racing just about every Sunday. I can still remember walking up to pick up my Trophies after my name was announced, thinking this might be the time I hear a “Good job son, I’m proud of you” but of course it never came. Always more along the lines of “if you would have just kept the gas on longer into turn three, you could have probably lapped another guy”. Again, never good enough.

My parents divorced when I was 14, my sister went to live with my Mom and I continued to live with my Dad. He and I continued racing and by this time he was General Manager of a large motorcycle Dealership in So. Cal. and racing had become a big part of our lives. The Head Mechanic at the Dealership had a son that was two years older than I was and we became really good friends. We went to the same High School, in fact our H.S. had a Motocross ‘Team’. We would tune our bikes all week long after school in anticipation of racing on Sunday. As time went by my buddy wanted to get more into desert racing, which I didn’t much care for. We’d still tune our bikes together all week but some weekends he and his Dad would race in the desert while my Dad and I would head to the MX track.

Then my buddy got the ‘itch’ to race the Baja 500, at the time one of the biggest desert races in the world. I’m not even sure they were racing the Baja 1000 at that time. I’ll never forget thinking how lucky he was because he got to take a few days off school that week because the race was on a friday and he needed to go down to Mexico early and get prepped for it. He was an incredibly talented rider and I knew he would do great, even though it was his first time in the race.

The phone call came that friday night, he was dead! My best friend was killed while leading the Baja 500. He was only sixteen and to think of all he could have accomplished breaks my heart to this day. His father took it very hard, feeling as if it was his fault for allowing his son to be in that race. I didn’t know it at the time but as I look back, I think he had a nervous breakdown. I don’t think he was ever the same after that. I was only fourteen at the time and it was really the first funeral I can remember attending. Seemed like our entire school was there. He was a very special person, incredibly smart, outgoing and loved by all. Oh how I wish he would have just gone to school that week because I still miss him terribly to this day.

After that, the ‘magic’ of racing had lost it’s luster and it kind of broke the ‘bond’ that my Dad and I had shared. My Dad gravitated more towards building Street Rods and I started hanging out more with my friends, going to the beach and doing other things. My Dad and I gradually grew apart and we never really shared that same ‘connection’ ever again.

Hard to believe it now but I was actually kind of smart as a kid, I skipped a grade and so I graduated from High School at sixteen. Of course, as we all know at sixteen I pretty much knew everything I was ever going to know and so I wanted to move out on my own. Yet I really wasn’t old enough to legally ‘leave’ and since I was working at the time I rented a room from my Boss who was my girlfriends Brother in Law. At this point my friends and I were spending all of our ‘free time’ at the beach and so when I turned eighteen I moved to San Diego with three friends and that was more or less the last time I saw my Dad. Oh, I saw him a couple times through the years. Once was at my Grandfathers funeral and things of that nature but never for ‘good times’. By this point he had a ‘second’ family and my sister and I were just memories, a part of his past.

As the years went by I had wanted to contact him but I always felt that ‘wherever’ I was in my life at the time, I wasn’t doing well enough for him to be proud of me and so I continued to postpone things until I was doing better. Better job, more money, that kind of thing.

As I got older I began to lose track of why we didn’t speak to each other anymore and I really wanted to get up the courage to call him, just to say “Hi” and “Let’s have lunch sometime”. Yet I never did. “Oh, there’s always next month and I’ll be doing better by then anyway” but of course that never happened. I could never muster up the courage to face him.

Then the call came, he was gone. Everything I had ever wanted to say to him came flooding back to me in a wave of despair that I can’t even begin to describe. Oh, people tell me that the phone works both ways and that he could have contacted me just as easily as I could him. Yes that’s true but knowing in my heart that he was even more stubborn than I am and that he would never make the first move, it really doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. I should have been the ‘bigger’ person and extended the ‘olive branch’ to him because as I sit here now writing this ‘novel’, I’m truly the one that lost out by not making the effort to contact him first.

All of those years spent searching for his praise and approval had kept me from swallowing my pride and making that phone call. Oh, how I regret that now. Especially when I find out from my Mom that he used to tell everyone else how proud he was of me, yet he couldn’t bring himself to tell me to my face. Apparently he felt I would stop trying so hard if I thought I already did a ‘good enough’ job on something. He obviously didn’t understand that I’ve been driven by my pride my entire life and I don’t know any other way than to do my very best, at everything I do.

It’s so unfortunate that we were unable to communicate all those years. Communication is so important, in every type of relationship. Be it family, friends or in love, communication is everything. I never got to know my Father as an adult and it absolutely breaks my heart to this day. Yet I know I should get over it and ‘move on’ because there’s nothing I can do about it now but the regret still cuts so deeply into my heart that it’s hard not to blame myself for all those years I missed out on. Who knows, there’s no guarantee that if I did make the effort to contact him how or even if he would have responded but the fact that I didn’t try is what tears me apart inside.

The point of this ‘novel’ isn’t to sit around and cry about what could have been. It’s to hopefully get the message out to others that could be in this very situation. Life is short, please don’t make the same mistakes I did. I will have to live with my regret forever but you don’t have to. Don’t let your ego or your pride keep you from contacting someone you care about. Take it from me, the regret can be unbearable at times and no one should have to go through this. And once it’s too late, it’s too late. There are no second chances.

Be the bigger person, make the effort and who knows what could happen. It could turn out fantastic but even if it doesn’t, at least you can say you tried and you will know deep down inside that you did your best. That’s all they would ever want from you, just do your best.