“My task is to make you hear, feel and see. That and no more, and that is everything.” - Joseph Conrad
I always felt that being an animator was a selfish decision on my part. My Dad was a state trooper, my Mom an ER trauma nurse. My brother was a fire fighter, my sister a teacher for disabled children. I’m am an animator. I know how animation makes me feel and I know that I can make people see things in a different light. I never fully understood the importance past that.
So when my parents give me too much praise for my trite accomplishments, I remind them that my work is self-serving. Even when I animate something for someone else, like for Lolita the whale, I benefit.
My Mom would argue me. It annoyed me, and I often brushed her off because, well, I’m an egotistical, proud humble person and I’ll be damned if anyone is going to argue my logic. I cast her words to the wind. Never thought too much into it, until she died.
My Mom has been gone for 48 hours now, died in her sleep in the wee morning hours on Saturday. It was only half unexpected, as she has been terminally ill most of my life. My Dad’s heart is broken, and I am helpless to comfort him. He hasn’t stopped crying except for brief spells of sleep. He dry heaves, he coughs, he won’t hardly eat and he won’t hardly drink.
I feel lost, even when I pray. What can I do to help him? What can I do to lessen his load? What can I say? After some consideration, I thought perhaps a movie would be nice. I loved, “How to Train your Dragon” so, why not try seeing a movie?
I suggested a film, and we left. He cried a little on the way to the theater, but he kept a straight face in line. We gave our ticket, we took our seats, the lights went out, and the movie began.
For 98 minutes my Dad didn’t feel pain. He didn’t feel regret. He didn’t feel despair. For 98 minutes he laughed a little, he smiled some, and enjoyed himself. For 98 minutes he found solace and reprieve in the light hearted story of a boy and his dragon. For 98 minutes, he felt peace.
I watched the movie, and I watched my Dad watch the movie. Somewhere during that 98 minutes, the words of my Mom that I had once cast to the wind came drifting back like an old friend.
“How can you say that what you do isn’t important? Don’t you understand, can’t you see? You have the ability to bring people happiness when there isn’t any. You can make them forget, even if it’s just for a little while, the pain that life won’t let them. For a little while someone dying of cancer won’t think about death. For a little while, someone who’s physically handicapped will forget their limitations. For a little while, someone hurting won’t hurt. How can you say what you do is selfish? How dare you say that it isn’t as important? It is the most important, powerful thing you can do for someone. It’s peace for a moment, and that moment is everything.”
I love you Mom, and I won’t forget. Not ever.