Prior to a near-death experience that was probably closer to
actual death than it was near, my life was a series of seemingly random occurrences.
I thought myself in control, I wanted to believe that I was going somewhere, the
reality was that I was adrift. I had no direction and very little control. That
experience, now almost 20 years ago, was the beginning of the end, but the
beginning of the beginning would not really take place for another three or
four years. But that was the first domino.
There are a couple of concepts that sort of described what
has transpired since. One is what is sometimes referred to as the “butterfly
effect.” Essentially, the idea is that something as small as the flap of a
butterfly’s wings on the other side of the world will disturb the air is such a
way that the disturbance – and just that
disturbance – will start a causal chain that results in virtually everything else
that happens from that point forward. Of course, taken to an absurd extreme,
everything is the result of the first flap of the first butterfly’s wings, but
the broader point is much simpler. Little things done now can have profound and
unknowable effects much later. The other is serendipity, which is defined as, “the
occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.” While
the butterfly effect has no positive or negative valence, serendipity
necessarily does.
That near-death experience was the very large flap of a very
large butterfly’s wings and the things that have been presented to me since,
the opportunities, the ways in which I have approached life and the paths that
have appeared before me have proven serendipitous, indeed. This is not some new
revelation, I have experienced profound moments of gratitude and equally
profound realizations of the presence of serendipity in my life many times over
the past many years. It is upon me again, but this time is not a moment of rejoice,
but one of sorrow. It is a time for gratitude, for sure, but also one of loss
and in some respects, regret. However, if not for that first domino falling and
certain events unfolding as they did starting nearly 20 years ago, I would not
be writing this today, even if I had survived.
Without writing a book-length memoir that accounts for the
unlikely path that led from there to here, part of that journey included a
return to school as a “nontraditional” student.” Nontraditional in this context
is commonly translated as old – old compared to the average college age student.
In my case that was well into middle age, well after screwing up my actual
college age years and making a mess of much of my life in the years following
that failed attempt at college. It was not as though I never experience
success; I did, but it was always fleeting and never with any solid plans or
goals. It was incidental success, accidental success or, perhaps, opportunistic
success. It was the kind of life that might have predicted the end that almost
happened.
The path that took place after almost cashing it all in led me
through a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree at California State
University, Sacramento before I continued on to a Ph.D. program. I applied to a
number of schools all over the country, among them was Louisiana State University
in Baton Rouge. Two schools accepted my application, one was, serendipitously,
LSU. Why serendipity? Because I have not just connections in Louisiana, I have
family. Blood family. My mom’s sister, my Aunt Nancy, my cousins and other direct
family all live nearby. While I had never been to Baton Rouge prior to visiting
LSU before accepting my invitation to study there, I visited family in Southern
Louisiana and Mississippi many times over the years since I was a child. While
not close on an “everyday” basis, they were still very close and the “home base”
that I had there, generations in the making, made my relocation much easier.
But it was far more than that. Sure, the practical implications
of a middle-aged grad student having a complex, fully integrated family support
system in place was an advantage that certainly made the transition smoother. Anything
that removes external stresses could only be beneficial to my studies. It doesn’t
take a great deal of intuitive power to see that. But the 2,000-plus miles
between our homes meant that, aside from some holidays and other “special
occasions,” we really didn’t spend a lot of time together. My living less than
an hour north for the better part of four years eliminated that distance both
physically and personally. It was so close, in fact, that I often took it for
granted. No longer was it a major event to visit my Louisiana kinfolk, I could
go just anytime. And although I did, in retrospect, I didn’t often enough.
I entered LSU in the fall of 2011. That year, before I knew
I would be attending LSU, my Uncle Sonny, Aunt Nancy’s husband, passed
suddenly. His memorial was one of those “special occasions,” though that word, “special,”
feels somewhat dubious. However, as it was a celebration of his life, for a
memorial it was pretty special. He and my aunt were married for almost 60
years. Yesterday, after a relatively short battle, my aunt followed him. From
the fall of August of 2011 until May of 2015, I spent much, much more time in Louisiana
than I did in California. The vacuum left by Uncle Sonny’s passing was still
very real, but Aunt Nancy’s strength was the stuff of legend and, truth be
told, I needed that, even if I didn’t know it or would never admit it. There
were times, many times, when we would find ourselves, just her and I, alone
just chatting about this and that – important stuff, trivial stuff, family
stuff from an entirely different perspective – just stuff, and sometimes an
hour or more will have passed in the blink of an eye. Although I built new
closeness to my cousins and other relatives there, too, it was with Aunt Nancy
I grew closest to. With my own mother, her sister, so far away, she was that to
me, too.
I realize that I said a whole lot about me before I got to
her, but this isn’t meant to be a memorial. I could not do it justice, anyway. One
of my cousins will do that much better than I ever could, and rightfully so. This
is more a reflection on the little things in life and how important those forks
in the road can be, many miles and many years later. While I regret not taking
the opportunity to visit more often when I could have, I am forever grateful
for the time we had. My aunt was more help to me than she knew, more help than I
knew, especially considering so much more that was going on that I didn’t write about here. I will truly,
truly miss her.
As I was perusing my Facebook memories today, pictures of
Mardi Gras popped up. Prior to LSU, I’d been to a few, but while at LSU, I felt
more part of it than ever before. But
those memories, while nice, are not unexpected or particularly profound. One,
however, was; it was a comment from her on one of my posts. She was more a
Facebook “stalker” than a participant, so her commenting is kind of a big deal,
that it would pop up today, two years ago one day after she passed, is…
touching, in a way I can’t describe. It reads: “I have no comment on the
content of your post, but I see genes appearing. Grandad would be proud of you.
There's nothing like a good argument to keep life interesting. Good job.”
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