Black Hole

A little over 24 hours before my father died, I read a headline about a recently discovered 13 billion year old black hole. Sitting in a dark room next to his hospital bed, I went on a deep dive of what scientists know, or what they think they know about black holes. For so much remains a mystery. 

Black holes are formed when a giant star collapses. “They describe(s) how mass, space, and time are related to one another. (...) They are literally made out of space and time.”

The article I pored over while my father slept went on to say that “we can find black holes by watching the movements of objects around them. A black hole’s gravity is so strong that nearby stars will orbit around them, so we can look for stars behaving strangely around a patch of empty space.”

The day before I read this headline, I had written in my notes that observing my father in his hospital bed was like watching some great force with an invisible pull, causing us to rotate around him... stars behaving strangely. The many variations of visitors, playing out like a movie montage. A scene from The Big Chill came to mind (a favorite of my father’s)... where the characters come in and out of the kitchen, all centered around a table holding boxes of shoes, while The Band’s “The Weight” plays (another favorite of my father’s.) In his hospital room, family and friends moved in and out at different times, different speeds, different volumes, different positions... using every flat surface as a piece of furniture. Chairs, a wheelchair, a walker, a bench, a table. All while my father, the life of everything, lay asleep in his bed. And it occurred to me that even unconscious, he was still at the center of all that was happening. The force with such an immense and undeniable gravitational pull. 

My father’s death wont make world news. National news. It wont even be a headline. But it should. Because the phenomenon that was my father is equally as extraordinary. Because to describe what he meant to his family, his friends, his community is equally as important. And to consider the empty space that will be left behind, the mass and weight of grief, as unbelievable as a giant hole in space.

Similar to a black hole’s ability to pull in what orbits around it, I remember thinking an hour after his death that this unbearable gravity of grief should be pulling us all in. Forcing each and every one of us to disappear along with him. His family, his friends, this town. It didn’t, it still doesn’t, it probably never will feel right to exist without him. Existing without him seems unfathomable. Unbearable. 

“Black holes themselves are invisible - they emit virtually no light and cannot be seen directly.”

I don”t know where my father exists in time and space anymore. Where he will exist. My guess is that I will find him in everything he loved and everything that loved him... his family, his friends, music, food, knowledge, his home. My guess is that all of these people and places will continue to orbit around him, will continue to feel his gravitational pull, even if we can no longer see his light. 

Scientists believe that black holes might be able to tell us “essential rules of the universe.” My father’s life, his legacy, confirms this theory... the rules of the universe... how to live in such a way that creates and pulls in and expands more good, more significance, more importance.

I dont believe in the heavens, not in a religious sense. But I do believe in everything good that surrounds me, in every big and small thing that he touched, pulled in, expanded. I believe in significance. I believe in importance. I believe in the existence of great stars. I believe in him.