Puzzle of Life

So I got an email from Kijiji just now with the subject line “What type of Dad do you have?” and in my head I replied, “A dead one” which I meant to be darkly humorous, but no sooner had I thought it than I felt my eyes well up and my chest cave in.

What IS that space inside your chest?

It’s enormous.

It is bottomless even.

No one talks much about it, but we all have it.

This spectacular space we walk around with inside of us.

What is going on exactly when it crumples inward with grief?

Or expands with that euphoric joy that comes when you are really kind to a stranger or when you forgive someone after holding a crazy grudge for way too long.

Some say that is where God lives.

I was raised agnostic but whenever I have contemplated a God and dared to ask “So…are you there?” I feel that same joyful sensation.

It’s like a cosmic reply.

In that space.

In my chest.

Maybe that space is sort of like a puzzle piece that each of us holds inside us. Like a playing card no one but God can see. We spend our life shaping it, polishing it, colouring it in with our experiences and then when we die…snap! We become locked into a giant picture that is being patiently created one piece, one life, at a time.

When we’re all finished here and there’s no one left to die, the very last piece gets snapped into place, and bam! We will be able to step back and see the whole picture of what this crazy life was all about.

The Meaning. For ages 0 and up. 250 billion pieces.

There’s crazier theories.

I know for sure that my parents were part of the whole that made up our family picture. And if they are now also part of some greater picture, whatever their puzzle piece represents, it will be something wonderful.

Because that’s what type of Dad-and Mom-we had.