Posted by Jim Jagielski on Tuesday, September 16. 2014 in Personal

Today marks the 3rd anniversary of my Dad's death. People say you'll never understand how it feels until you go through it, and they are correct. I never truly understood the emptiness that remains.

My most vivid memory of that time is standing there, at my Dad's side in the hospital, as he was breathing his last breaths.; watching the EKG go from a slow but steady beat, to a weak and chaotic wave and then, like a bad soap opera or medical show, to a simple flat line. And he was gone.

I looked at my Dad and all he really *was*, was gone. All that remained was the shell that carried the *real* Joe Jagielski. He was here, but he really wasn't. I looked at Dad and he was, but he wasn't, my Dad.

We all are aware of our mortality, but it never feels real to us. But when someone close to you dies, especially when you are right there when it happens, it brings it home like a bombshell. I can truly say that, for better or worse, my awareness of death and mortality is never that much below the surface. We all die, and before that happens, we should spend our lives with as much joy and fulfillment as possible.

This realization has somehow made me more, and yet also, less patient. I try not to let little things bother me, and try to see the good in people. I'm more sensitive to people, or, at least, I try to be. Yet, on the other hand, I find that I have little to no patience with two-faced or selfish people who are only there for you if it's "convenient"; Life is too short, and I don't have the time to waste. None of us do.

Dad, I miss you, and I always will. I love you.


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