I cannot think of a greater persecution than being subject to live life, day after day after day, as a weasel. Living out of “necessity” may prove to be a simpler task than living out of “choice,” but it would be an airless and monotonous routine. I live each day in hopes that tomorrow will be different from today, in some shape or form: perhaps a friendship gained; a wish fulfilled; a new lesson learned. All of these intangible little miracles etch vital lessons and memories into the human heart; without them, the heart would cease to beat. I embrace the human ability to feel both grief and joy. My experience strengthened my own quest for life meaning: how to live.
Dillard states, “A weasel doesn’t ‘attack’ anything.” If one does not “attack” life with fervor and a “fierce and pointed will,” then he cannot say that he has truly lived. It is experiencing the joys, the sorrows, the laughter, and the tears- frozen moments in time- that allows us to say that we have truly lived. The death of a beloved friend and co-worker forced me to stop living like a weasel and realize that I was taking advantage of the miracle of life. At Jeremy’s viewing, I stood at my pal’s side, “stunned into stillness,” gazing at his pale unearthly complexion. Those two baby blue eyes I was not able to see. I longed to be lost in them once more, to retrace and memorize every detail and complexity of his windows to the world.
... love in, too, in order to live life to the fullest. Living life to the fullest also means focusing ... for himself, never living life the way he should. Morrie epitomizes the way everyone should live life. In conclusion, ... him the epitome of the perfect way to live life. King Lear had a very different perspective than ... see his sons every day, he would not allow them to put their lives completely on hold ...
The “yank of separation” tore me in half. I took one last look at him and he vanished underneath the wild roses that adorned his casket. “The careening splash- down into real life” stirred my frozen emotions. A part of me is lost. When he passed me by at work, no matter how busy we were, he always found time to smile and wink at me. We would always joke around, flirting bashfully, our eyes studying each other, trying to find something deeper in each other’s souls.
Something to grasp onto. Something to hold. In all of that is a feeling of indescribable emotion: a combination of anticipation, excitement, and fear. Jeremy’s death was an epiphany for me.
It opened my eyes to the vibrant world that enveloped me. My only regret is that I wish I could have known Jeremy longer. We were on the brink of something magical that cannot ever be recaptured. That part of me, that hope, is gone. I will have to live the rest of my life wondering what would have become of the two of us.
Perhaps I’ll never know. But sometimes I think it’s better not knowing because our relationship won’t ever come to an end. Jeremy and I both yielded to our instincts and let time take its course. We didn’t think about tomorrow, what would happen if we walked out that door and never again returned. Such a parting never entered my mind.
It is an unfinished book that I keep thinking about, wanting to go back and continue to reread between the lines. Every time I think about Jeremy, I remember something else, something so seemingly minute in those moments that are cached at the back of my brain. So, while I savor that miracle that Jeremy never got to fully enjoy, I’ll immerse myself in the rays of the living sun, thinking of Jeremy looking down upon me, and revel in discovering how to live. Dillard, Annie. Living Like Weasels.