Having a love for life makes living enjoyable. That passion can be as impactful as any religious experience. What happens when your passion for life brings you to face to face with the frustration of living? And how do you handle it when Jesus comes to call?

Mom taught me from an early age to embrace life and look for new experiences. While she didn’t always understand the full impact of life she definitely encouraged us to try new things, especially if it was something we’d never done before. And if it was something that generated fear or a phobia, she’d definitely push for us to embrace it. That passion for life seemed to wane some in her later years as she grew older and gained more experience. Or more accurately she weighed the effort for the experience against the payoff in enjoyment. And as she retired while dealing with health issues the money didn’t allow for much more.

But she preached the sermon that experiencing all that life offers should be a priority for everyone. Life was for living! It started with food, pushing us to try different flavors. Later she pushed things like roller coasters and places to visit and people to meet. She used to warn me to always look my best because you never know who you will meet when you’re out. Put your best foot forward and be confident. As an adult I know there’s a bunch of nuance to putting yourself out there. Not all foods are an option to try, something you learn when your tummy revolts against some of the most basic things. And with a fear of heights, roller coasters don’t even appeal to me, but I get why they do to others.

I’m a sucker for hiking trails, getting joy out of new vistas at each bend. The thrilling prospect of some breathtaking panoramas emerging from the top of the next peak. Traveling is not one of my passions, but I enjoy new places and new experiences. I skew more toward a museum than a bar. I’d rather see a movie than attend a party. Give me your bedroom eyes and the light touch of a lover over small talk or watching the big game. My passion for living springs from the desire to touch others. I prefer leaving a lasting impression from the meaningful moments spent sharing secrets or telling stories in a darkened restaurant to frenetic dancing or slurred flirting in the corner of a bar.

For now my mother has to content herself in the flittering images plastered against the whitewashed sterile walls, or lose herself in the classical painting styles of Rembrandt. These are the windows left to her where life plays out in fevered sketches and silent, animated photos of her children. Everything becomes alive in her room, with random patterns resolving into nameless faces in the patterns of quilts or in the lighter patches of skin on her arm. She points to them often now and asks can I see the eyes or the nose. Sometimes they’re apparent, but most times not. Her passion for life has seeped out from her pores and into the things around her that remind her of the life she had. They radiate outward as if to mock the old attitude of “how will you know if you like it if you don’t try it?” Now they are all she has left to remind her that once her life was filled with excitement and purpose. When my son was born she’d already had one stroke and he gave her a reason to fight for more life. She even expanded her home to make room for all the adventures that were bound to happen as my family grew.

The tragedy is if it weren’t for the faces she’d be utterly alone. Perhaps without them she’d complain of boredom rather than the futility of existence. For all her positive nature, Mom never lacked for a complaint. But that duality always included how good things would be if whatever issue were not present. Now the faces keep her company and remind her that time is running out.

She’s always believed things happen for a reason. This event or that was a learning opportunity to expand your mind or gain some new insight. Later on as she aged her beliefs shifted back to a more traditional Christian leaning version where God and Jesus love you and only want your happiness. In fact, Jesus came to call the other day. He stood in all His glory in full color and smiling in profile. The faces tend toward a side-view but his presence marked a turn in her condition. Until now she’d only seen her oldest son once and my father many times. Jesus come calling meant something, but for now it’s just a promise.

My faith is practically non-existent, but unlike when I was younger I’m now old enough to understand there is no value in trashing a movie you don’t want to watch. And just because you don’t want to watch a show today, doesn’t mean you won’t find it interesting in the future. And just because a bunch of people like a show doesn’t mean it’s as good as they say. A lot of things depend on the time of your life when you experience it. Sometimes you’re not in the mood for that kind of story. Sometimes it makes life resonate all the more. And sometimes it’s enough to ruin the whole thing.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; this movie sucks.