Creating 2015—Day 6: Happy Birthday, Daddy!

I inspect my new ride.  It’s purple with a white banana seat and matching handle bar fringe.  And it’s glorious.  I can’t wait to give it a spin.  At almost eight, my five older siblings do not know me as brave.  But on this day, I resolve to prove them wrong.  I throw caution to the wind and venture riding my new bike past our house, down 3rd street.  It’s not that steep.  The next thing I remember is time slowing right before impact.  A few minutes earlier, the sidewalk had seemed like the safest bet.  I didn’t realize that the smooth line of a continuous path ahead of me was an optical illusion.  The reality was a jagged section of raised concrete in the middle—not easy for a novice bicycle rider to navigate.  I land fast and hard.  I know it’s bad.  I hold my breath.  I don’t move.  As long as I stay breathlessly still, I won’t feel the pain.  I didn’t get on another bicycle for 30 years.

My Family from left to right:  Me, John, Brenda, Lori, Sherri, Bill and, Mother and Daddy

When I first heard my Dad was diagnosed with cancer, I knew it was bad.  I held my breath.  I didn’t move.  I couldn’t move.  If I moved, I knew I would feel the pain.  And as much as I as don’t want to feel physical pain, I suspected that this kind of emotional pain had the potential to kill me.  Almost a year and a half after receiving that phone call, I am, obviously, still alive.  My Dad, unfortunately, is not. Today would have been his 78th birthday.  A year ago, my whole family was together celebrating with him.  Hoping and praying the recent radiation treatments would give us at least another year.  It was not the case.  He was incredibly brave facing his own death.  He passed away on February 28, 2014.

I pretty much spent the rest of 2014 holding my breath, trying not to move, trying not to feel the pain.  I was grieving, dealing with it, processing it, accepting it as best as I could.  Sometimes the feelings would overwhelm me, practically put me in hysterics.  For a few months after he passed, I would have visceral flashbacks of his death, like it was happening all over again, I was losing him.  The end was intense, so perhaps it was a little post-traumatic stress, I don’t know.  I was with him in the end.  Feeding him ice chips, helping him take pain pills, telling him stories, holding his face in my hands as he slipped away, the light in his eyes dimming.  I did anything I could to be there for him, a source of comfort and strength, as he transitioned out of this world.

Daddy in his 20’s holding baby Sherri with toddler Billy Dean next to him.

And that is why 2015 is a year of new beginnings for me.  With death comes rebirth.  I am beginning to move again.  I am beginning to feel again.  I am beginning to live again.  To feel life, all of it—the good, the bad, the happy, the sad, the in-between—is what being alive is all about.  I don’t know what lies ahead.  The sidewalk might look smooth but end up being a bumpy ride I crash on.  I can stay safe, tucked away, hiding in my comfort zone, motionless and not feeling any pain.  Or, I can take a risk to move out of my comfort zone and feel everything life has to offer again.  When I slow down and think about what my Dad would say, I smile.  I can hear him tell me, “Be brave.  Get back on the bike.  You might not have another chance in 30 years.”

You may be gone, Daddy, but you are still with me every day!  And on your birthday in 2015, I am thinking of you and feeling thankful for all that you have given me—the bicycles, the fishing lessons, the wisdom, a tireless work ethic, a love of family, a loyal heart, a giving spirit, and for showing me what true bravery looks like.

I will love you forever.

Until tomorrow, create from what you have…a life to feel.

Kelli Joan Bennett is a filmmaker, actress, writer, entrepreneur, advocate for creative thinking and Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Think Outside The Box Inside The Box Media.

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