The Gift of Time

A year ago, my dad fell and hit his head. He died on March 14.

When I asked him what happened, he said he didn’t know. But I think he did.

He knew something was happening inside—something bad. He just didn’t say it out loud.

He lived for 37 more days.

I told him he needed to get it checked out, so he did. Two weeks later, he was preparing to move in with my sister in Alabama.

He arrived on March 7. He was gone by the 14th.

As I get older, I’ve built what some call a "F**k-it list," but I prefer to call it a "Distraction List."

It’s not just about what I don’t want to do—it’s about what I won’t allow to steal my time anymore.

I don’t feel like I’m in my dad’s position.

He knew. He could feel something shifting inside.

I don’t have that feeling—not yet.

In fact, I feel better. Slowly, but better.

And that, to me, is a gift.

It means I can design my time, use it with precision—maximize my contribution—until that feeling comes for me.

I don’t know when that day will be. But I do know this:

I will not waste it.

My mom? She was a different story.

Nine weeks later, she died too.

The doctors brought her back to life four times on the operating table.

She went home to heaven to be with dad a week later.

In some ways, I envy her. She didn’t see it coming. She didn’t have to carry the weight of knowing.

One moment, she was here.

And then, she wasn’t.

Last year taught me a lot.

Most of the lessons were tangled inside that awful Venn diagram of loss.

But one thing became clear:

I’m done spending my time in places where my value is ignored.

I will likely never work for an employer again. Probably not for anyone else, either.

I was built to create. To optimize. To automate.

I’m not a cog in someone’s machine. I build the damn machines.

And companies don’t want that.

They want butts in seats, spreadsheets filled, managers managing their little fiefdoms.

That’s not me.

I optimize processes. And in doing so, I optimize people.

That clarity? It’s a gift.

This isn’t a lecture. It’s just an explanation.

If I sound dogmatic, it’s because I’ve seen the light

And I refuse to step back into the darkness.

There’s a Psalm I was forced to memorize as a kid, but appreciated later:

"Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path."

The Bible is that guiding light, and lamp of illumination.

But last year, my experiences helped in the same way.

They illuminated what mattered.

They pointed me down the path I’m walking now.

That’s why I love AI, automation, APIs.

They let me leverage my time, extend it, stretch it—

Make the most of what I have left.

I’m like a mechanic tuning an engine, squeezing out every last bit of speed and horsepower.

Because one day, the checkered flag will drop.

And when it does, I want to know I ran my race right.

And, I'll join my parents in that winners circle in paradise.

https://www.davisoswaldfh.com/obituary/Norman-Seest

https://www.davisoswaldfh.com/obituary/MaryJane-Seest