The Things We Hold: Life, Loss, and the Stories We Tell Ourselves
A personal reflection on love, randomness, and learning to walk the road in front of you
I've some news to share, but first, an update on the strange little life I’ve been living during my forced retirement.
Let’s start with the house. I’ve been busy with projects, some of which are long overdue. I’ve been stuccoing, repairing, building shelves, and painting. I finally built a work table in my garage and spent hours reorganizing and purging years of accumulated junk. It feels good. The garage has become a place I enjoy being in now, tinkering, fixing things, getting my hands dirty. Somewhere between these projects, I’ve turned into my father, puttering around the garage and feeling a sense of accomplishment.
These last seven months have been a strange mix of memory and presence. I’ve taken a kind of pilgrimage—part introspective and part external. Between a handful of small consulting projects, housework, and trying to generate income from side gigs, I ended up spending a lot of time back in the town where I grew up.
“Well, I was born in a small town…” - John Mellencamp
My mother and aunt still live in the house where I was raised. Before my father passed, I made him a promise: that I would look after these two ladies were he to pass first. They’re both in their 90s now, and time has not been kind to them. Their health is failing, and these last few months have been consumed with juggling doctor visits, appointments, and whatever else they need. When it comes to family, I uphold my filial duty fiercely.
Luckily, I’ve been able to shoulder much of that load, largely thanks to the fact that I’m no longer working full-time. Despite the uncertainty and stress this forced retirement has brought, I am thankful for the time I have with them. Maybe, just maybe, the universe cleared my calendar so I could be there for them now.
It reminds me of what my old boss from New Mexico used to say: "Tommy, everything happens for a reason."
He was a kind man and a devout Catholic, convinced that God had a plan. I was in my early twenties then and didn’t much care for plans; I cared more about four-wheeling in the mountains, hiking, and spending my money on mobile ham radios.
Yet here I am, decades later, turning that phrase over in my mind again and again. Is there a purpose predestined for our lives? Is there a plan by some invisible deity? Or is it just something we say to make us feel better at the randomness of life?
As a man of science, I’d argue that chance plays a larger role than we like to admit. We do what we can to stack the odds in our favor—education, health, hard work—but sometimes randomness, beautiful randomness, comes to our aid. And when it does, you grab the ball and run as fast as you can to the end zone.
I’d like to believe that things happen for a reason. But the truth is, sometimes the reasons aren’t clear until later. And sometimes, they’re never clear at all. All we can do is keep moving forward.
A Pilgrimage to Chimayó
Last October, my partner and I took a trip to Albuquerque for the Balloon Fiesta. She’d always wanted to go, and I was happy to return to the Land of Enchantment. We had a wonderful time exploring New Mexico and Colorado and visiting old friends.
One of the highlights was driving the High Road to Taos, an old scenic route from Santa Fe to Taos, winding through small villages, local artist enclaves, and rugged desert beauty. But I had one stop in mind that I always return to when I’m in New Mexico: El Santuario de Chimayó.
I’m not religious, but Chimayó holds a special place in my heart. It feels sacred, steeped in history, mystery, faith, and the blood and sweat of the people who built it and continue to honor it. Every time I visit, I feel something stir deep inside me, a connection to something older and larger than myself.
I remember seeing photographs of missing teenagers, fathers and mothers suffering from illness, and other mementos that a loved one placed on the walls leading to El Pocito, a room where there was a small window and a hole in the ground. It’s believed the soil from this hole has magical abilities to heal the sick and infirm.
I bowed my head and entered the tiny room; I was one of the first people there for the day. I felt the weight of my family on my shoulders, and I prayed. I prayed for healing for the sick and afflicted, for my late father and family who have passed on, and I prayed for strength for my loved ones.
I grabbed a pinch of soil and walked out feeling the weight of troubles lifted. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that day, and in many ways, the last seven months have felt like a pilgrimage of its own—a return to my roots, to my family, and to what matters most.
I’m Not Giving Up
A few weeks ago, I was sitting with my mother in a hospital waiting room. She was preparing for a small outpatient surgery. We were chatting about our family in Germany; only three of my aunts remain, all in poor health.
Suddenly, my mother straightened up, her eyes flashing. “I’m not giving up!” she declared, wagging her finger at some invisible adversary. “No, I’m not.”
Soon after, we were called into the pre-op room. I took her hand and helped her as she carefully made her way inside. And in that moment, I thought about all the times she held my hand when I was small, guiding me through life. The roles have shifted now, but the bond remains.
Somewhere in this wild, beautiful mess we call life, there is love and death, blood and birth, joy and pain. We fight for our place in the world, stumble, fall, and rise again. We are fragile creatures of bone, blood and thought, reaching for whatever happiness we can grasp - and hold on to it for dear life.
And through all the ups and downs, something tells us not to give up. These bad times will pass, and these chaotic times will die down. Good times are just around the corner, if only we can hold on just a bit longer.
'I know what I have to do now. I got to keep breathing. Because tomorrow the sun will rise. Who knows what the tide could bring?' - Chuck Noland (Cast Away)
Do I truly believe that everything happens for a reason? Deep down, I’d like to. But I know better. Life is chaotic and unpredictable, and the best we can do is show up, do the work, love fiercely, and walk whatever road is in front of us - until something changes by chance.
And it has. That bit of news I alluded to? I’m coming out of retirement. I’ve accepted a position as an AI Advisor for a Fortune 100 company, and I couldn’t be more excited. I’ll write more about that soon, but right now my road is clear: family first. Everything else will sort itself out with time.
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