25 years ago my father passed away. I found myself reflecting more on it this year than in the last few. There are so many reasons for this year to hit just a bit harder, but instead of exploring those possibilities… I thought I would share a poem I wrote over 20 years ago.

This poem was originally published in “The 2002 Emily Dickinson Awards Anthology, Volume 7.” I don’t think it’s in print anymore, and I’m pretty sure only the 80-ish writers published in the anthology (and their families) own a copy of this book. But hey, it was published.

Hole in One; Burying my Father

A small box

Was assembled by my Uncle’s hands

To hold my father’s ashes.

Meant to go into a small hole in the ground,

Like the golf ball my father spent his life chasing.

A small ball

Hit by a skinny club.

The ball

Intended to go the distance,

Until it crashed into earth.

Whether it is a long or short stroke,

The goal is still the same:

The ball must go in the hole.

How many strokes does it take?

Two or three is usually under par,

But this time it took one.

One stroke,

One massive stroke,

And my father’s a hole in one.

- Carrie K. Morris

My father’s story, or rather the end of his story, has served to remind me throughout my life that work cannot be the thing we live for. As we came to find out in the months after his death, my father knew how sick he was. His doctor had been encouraging him to take time off to have the surgery his heart needed. But he was afraid to take the time off, afraid his younger co-workers would get the promotion or something to that effect. So he didn’t take the time. And instead he died on the 9th hole of a golf course, during a golf tournament, when his heart gave out.

If Life was a Dream… I suppose this year I am reminded once again to have a full life. And so I encourage you too. Love what you do for work, and also love what you do outside of work. Use both to fill you up. Life is too short, no matter how much time you have. Live well dreamers.