Now.

I originally wrote this last August; I'm sharing it again to mark the 15 year anniversary of Tony's passing.

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My mom was not much older than I am Now, when she found herself suddenly widowed one sunny, snowy January afternoon.  
 
My stepfather, Tony, was killed in a car crash; struck by a young man from my driver’s ed class, in fact, who was driving recklessly as teenagers do.  The accident left my mother alone with four kids, ages 6 months to 15 years.  My baby sisters, Tony’s two biological children, were roughly Henry and Eleanor’s ages.  The 3-year-old was actually with him in the vehicle that day and survived.  The 6-month-old had only one photograph of herself with her father.  
 
Tony was very influential in my own life, teaching me about photography, music, art, and culture.  He met me when I was quite young, but never treated me like I was “just his girlfriend’s kid” or talked down to me.  He was certainly one of the most interesting adults I’d ever know in my formative years.  He was an explosion of personality, a gregarious Italian, filled with enthusiasm for any topic you could think of.  He talked with his whole body, he bounced when he walked.  He was handsome and fun and a little bit crazy.  Everyone loved him.
 
Then he was gone.  Blinked out of this world, just that easily, in a situation beyond his control.
 
That day changed my whole life 15 years ago, but until recently, I never thought about it in relatable terms.  I am now 30, happily married with three wonderful children.  I literally cannot imagine this life that I love ever changing, let alone abruptly ending.  But I must remind myself: not one moment of these beautiful days is owed to me.  In fact, I don’t deserve a single one.
 
The day he died - really only minutes before - we were making a list together, preparing for our highly anticipated family ski trip.  I still have that list.  We were leaving the next day, as I recall, and I had piles of clothes ready to pack.  My mom was sick in bed, and he’d made her soup.  My point is: things were happening, we had plans, my sisters were babies, it’s wasn’t convenient to suffer a devastating loss.  
 
The fact is, this sort of thing happens every day, and it doesn’t just happen to Other People.  
 
This is not morbid dwelling.  I believe I’m gaining important perspective.
 
Obviously, I get upset at the thought of losing Ross, but rarely do I consider what would happen if he lost me.  Or if we lost a child, or children.  Any of these would be a horror, of course, so I don’t dwell on it for very long - all of this to say, allowing these thoughts to pass through my mind really makes me appreciate the details.
 
It makes me apologize sooner.  Get over myself faster.  Hug the kids harder.  Stay up just a little later, talking to Ross a little longer.  I don’t want to work myself to death, or worry about gas prices, or my weight, or politics, or reality television.  I couldn’t care less if I ever pay off my student loans.  Anything that pulls me from appreciating the Now, these infinitesimal moments that I’m wasting even as I type this, is just not worth it.
 
Nothing, nothing, nothing is worth more to me than Now.