Watermelon Seed

Gathering with family over the course of the past week, I heard number of stories about my grandfather: some whimsical, some bittersweet, some ribald, some downright unbelievable. Their variety spoke to what a truly unique and diverse life my grandfather led. The most amazing story by far was related by my dad, and is as follows:

Just after returning home from his deployment, my grandfather and his twin brother took a trip to Michigan together. (My dad was hazy on the details of said excursion, but in his words: “I don’t think they were going to church camp.”) On the way home, with my great-uncle driving and my grandfather sleeping in the backseat, they were involved in a terrible car accident. Upon arrival to the hospital, my grandfather was declared dead, sheet pulled over his head, and his gurney rolled into the hallway to await transport to the morgue. A doctor walking by happened to see my grandfather’s foot move, at which point, per grandpa, “the doctor slit my throat” (grandpa speak for a tracheotomy), and removed a single watermelon seed from my grandfather’s trachea.

At this point in the story my brother and I looked at each other incredulously. I suppose I should mention that this accident happened prior to my grandparents marrying and having children, before they even met. We were both thinking: this is how close we came to not existing? Unbelievable.

To think that my existence in this world was decided on so narrow a margin is both mind boggling and eye opening. How can I ever take life for granted again when I came so close to not even being? How can I not live every day to its fullest, when any minute alteration in timing or circumstance could have stolen them before they began? And most importantly: how can I ever look at a watermelon the same way again???

When I think about my grandfather’s watermelon seed, I am amazed. When I think about the fact that he was born a healthy twin in 1936, I am incredulous. And when I think about the fact that his own mother was also born a healthy twin in 1916, I am awestruck. If I ponder too long the curious set of happenstance and circumstance that led to my life, I begin to feel that I have to right to exist at all.

Except for this one thing. Purpose. I truly believe, with every fiber of my being, that we all exist for a purpose. We were placed on this earth thoughtfully and intentionally, with a set of skills and circumstances uniquely our own to complete the task at hand. I also believe that the vast majority of us will never fully comprehend the purpose for which we were placed here, or understand the amplified magnitude of our seemingly inconsequential every day existence. It could be that my purpose is simply to be a physician. It could be that I was placed here because my children will do amazing things. It could be that I rescued a stray dog that would have otherwise injured or killed someone. Most likely it is an infinitely intricate tapestry of opportunities, decisions, and circumstances interwoven to create my Purpose.

If you find my grandfather’s story a little far-fetched, I don’t blame you. My grandfather was a consummate story teller, and he did enjoy the odd embellishment every now and then. Regardless of the details though, the significance for me remains the same. We all have those watermelon seeds in our lives: those near misses, those almost never was-es, those too close to call moments. The thing is, most of us never even realize it. The point is not to drive yourself crazy thinking about it though. The point is to realize that life is indeed an extraordinarily precious and rare gift, and that we as people should be much better about living every single day like the miracle it is.