It was in the month of September when we lost dad to cancer 38 years ago. We had not commemorated his death anniversary for years and years because we (my siblings and I) have always believed in remembering his life, not his death.
But yesterday, my younger sister, Aie, posted online dad’s photo and I sat up and remembered—especially the part of him that has now become a daily part of me.
I have been having half-insomnia for a few years now. I say half because I sleep so well from 9 PM to 3 AM. And then I couldn’t get back to dreamland after that.
All through my growing up years, I would see dad reading a book in the living room at three in the morning, my usual pee time. I’d quickly get back to bed and three hours later, when we had all risen and shone, he'd stir from his chair, close his book, and join us for breakfast.
I see his image vividly in my heart now as I think of all my three o’clocks and me grabbing a book and reading, too.
Sleep-deprived is how I describe myself today with all my tossing-and-turning and reading at dawn.
Once long ago, I could sleep anywhere, anytime, in any position. That was when I was still in the stress-filled workplace. Sleep was my panacea.
Between client meetings, as soon as I had stepped inside the car, my eyelids would shut off the world and I’d doze until the client’s parking lot—fresh and ready for another word-and-psyche war.
On the drive home late at night, after a long day of production meetings and ad shoots, I would immediately snooze away the one-hour trip.
Behind my desk, after I had discussed a storyboard with a concept team, I’d cat nap before the next team entered my office door.
No wonder I survived the corporate pressure cooker for 20 years!
In contrast, here I am today enjoying the things I had no time for—writing, blogging, reading, teaching some, and idling some (a lot during this Covid-19 pandemic)—but could not get the same quality of sleep that used to come unbidden.
“You don’t need that much sleep anymore, Mom!” son #3 says to stop my incessant whining.
He means, of course, you’re old.
And, of course, I am. It’s been years since I left the workplace and there have been changes—as many and as much as the grace that comes with them.
So why complain? Well, I often asked myself, What happened?
Now I know; I took after dad. My dear Ading Aie jogged my memory.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens . . .” Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NIV)
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