Death, I have life on my mind

Two years ago, I lost a piece of myself. My sister, who was younger than me by a year, who was the only sibling I had, died.

Every now and then, even now, I sit up late at night thinking of her. My eyes get moist, my heart grows heavy.

Then, a year later, I lost my dad to a prolonged battle with cancer. With him, I lost another strand that bound my life together — a connection to the life I’ve lived.

And yet, life has gone on. Every day I wake up excited about sharing the world with my children and my wife. I am pumped about my work, and all the small and big successes of our little robots make me smile. I plan vacations, and soak in the joy of travel. I take delight in conversations with my children, looking for moments to teach them something new, hoping I am doing it right.

My heart never quite feels whole. But I’ve started to accept that.

Death has taken a bit from me. And life’s given me a lot more to feel thankful for. Every night I yearn for what I’ve lost, and every day I feel lucky to be alive, blessed to have so much to be happy about.

I’ve often thought of life as a series of happenstances — a result of a long series of coincidences and choices, where the slightest of difference in one of the infinite decisions in my past would have led me to a different place. I am what I am because of the life I’ve led.

My future is a function of the choices I make from this moment on. I can’t possibly control every single variable, but I can make choices that I believe will lead to the kind of outcome I want.

And so goes life. One day, I will leave behind for my children not much except memories and, I hope, a certain amount of influence that leads them to the lives I dream for them. Meanwhile, I am busy making those memories — and I choose to make those memories full of joy, love, discovery, and laughter.

Death, you might be around the corner, but I have Life on my mind.