My Dad died this Saturday.
More specifically, my biologically father passed away. I hadn’t seen him in over twenty years, but it was still surreal to receive the news.
I chose the title of today’s post because I thought it’d be the most important event to happen to me this weekend, getting to try this new chicken sandwich at Popeyes before anyone else.
I had this whole plan to journal about the occasion, and make this whole big post about the importance of asking and taking chances because you never know what you’ll get and…yeah. That’s not happening.
Obviously, I’ve been very introspective about the passing of my father.
There’s a lot of conflicting emotions at play here. There’s sadness, of course. Disappointment, as well; due to COVID-19, I can’t cross the border into the U.S. for the funeral (if there’ll even be a funeral).
There’s also regret in failing to connect after so long. I had an opportunity to video chat with him and my estranged sister, but we never got the chance.
I exist on this planet because of my mother and father. The passing of one half of the couple responsible for my existence makes me acutely aware of the fragility of my own mortality.
I’m sure when I was born, my mother and father had their own hopes and aspirations for me. Hope that I would achieve greatness in my life and strive to reach my fullest potential.
It’s disconcerting that he would pass away alone, without his children. That thought makes me very sad.
Every day I think of the decisions that I make in my life, and I hope they will amount to something of value to the world.
We can’t anticipate how and when we will die, but ideally when we leave this world we’re leaving behind some sort of legacy that can be celebrated and held onto. In my father’s case I’m not certain if that’s true.
I look back to my writing, and why I do it. It’s not for my parents. Or my partner. I don’t write for any particular individual. I write because it brings me joy, because it’s was what I feel I was put on this Earth to do.
Ever since I took my first breath, I’d like to think that is what my late father would want for me.
To not trudge through life aimlessly, unhappy. But to have a purpose.
In a perverse attempt to align this tragedy with the title of the post, an anecdote: I tweeted about the chicken sandwich on social media, and shortly afterward a user I never met went on to complain that their experience was lacking.
I think this is the perfect metaphor to life: it’s what you make of it. This person was reactionary; if you visit their Twitter timeline, you could tell they expected the world from Popeyes. They might have truly believed a chicken sandwich would be the thing to change their life and to give it more meaning. It didn’t happen, so they lashed out at the world and tried to bring down others.
Myself? I’m grateful for the experience, but it’s just one of many, many experiences I will have in my existence. It is neither the best, nor is it the worst; the biggest, or the smallest. But it will shape my experience here on Earth.
I’m grateful for time I did have with my father. I’m sorry it was so brief.
I’m looking towards the next chapter, looking at the lessons his passing has taught me so I can make my mark with the limited time I have here on this planet.
If it takes a chicken sandwich and its indelible association to personal tragedy to learn these lessons, then so be it.
Darryl Soulet
1961 – 2020
Beautiful tribute to your father. You are so right – we plan for the little things that give us joy in life, such as a new food to try. But life events such as the passing of a loved one makes us focus on the things that matter most – our relationships to people. My deepest sympathy for your loss 😔.