4 years and 100,000 miles
- Perry Zubeck
- Aug 26
- 4 min read
I was recently reminded (today) when a Facebook memory popped up from just a few short years ago. It was a perfect day. Watching my team with my two most favorite girls in the world. I was at the top of my game. Came through the pandemic with one of the most successful years in business of my life. I distinctly remember the moments of this game. All smiles. But on the inside I was an emotional volcano ready to erupt at any time. I'll never forget that day. It changed me forever.
I was exhausted. My mother, who resided in our back yard for 20+ years was slipping into early on dementia. And I was her punching bag. Those who know my mom know that she is a sweet woman, but entitlement was just part of her DNA. Every other day bringing in a check with instructions on what she needed that day. Lori and I didn't know what to do. We know something had to change. It was putting stress on our marriage as well.
Back to the game. On the ride home, I started to open up in conversation, showing my weakness at every mile marker. I had had enough and it showed. By the time I got home, I was a mess. I had zero control of my emotions. It seemed like years of constant strength had finally had the rope unraveling. I was in total breakdown mode. I was the most vulnerable I had ever been in my life. I couldn't stop the tears.
Lori had never seen me like this before. I was her rock, but was crumbling right before her eyes. This helplessness was something I was unfamiliar with. My thought on mental health was very {old school} with "You'll be fine" and "Rub some dirt on it and get back in the game". It was at this very time in my life- 54 years old with 2 grown children and an ever-increasing dementia toddler in my back yard that I knew change had to happen. I was ready to just drive away from it all. Not end my life, but just run away. I researched how to fix the feelings of deep, dark depression. There was very little online. And my friends offered inspiring words of encouragement, but I was needing more.
I immediately made an appointment with my doctor. I shared every thought and tried to convey my darkness. It was enough for him to prescribe me some anti-depressants and suggest therapy. NOTE: When you tell your physician about anxiety and depression, it's like you get priority over the common colds and flu.
Within a few weeks, the light started to illuminate a shade brighter than the darkness I was in. There was some relief but realized there was a long, hard road ahead to change the path I was on. As a younger man, I would turn to music or songwriting as an outlet. But I was no longer in a working band, felt irrelevant, and couldn't control my thought processes to write a sentence, let alone a song. My work suffered as well as it would take me hours to do 20 minutes of work. But I persevered. I kept going each day. I had to. There was no giving up. Lori continued to be my rock and she still is to this day. She is my stress reducer, literally. If there was a gatekeeper, she was it.
Fast forward to today. 2025. August. In a new state, new town, new experiences. And I find myself once again in a life decision that will hopefully put us both on a better track. With Lori's father recently passing, it really put things into perspective. Life is short. But it is so precious. In the hardest times, family came together and shared grief, shared joy and just rolled up their collective sleeves and did whatever needed to be done. I always knew Cancer was hard. But until you actually watch a person you had admired your entire life widdle down to helplessness, and such vulnerability, you have no idea how truly debilitating it is. But now, we all realize the strength it takes to carry on. Just like Lori's mom, which I have grown to love even more, if that is possible, she has shown grace throughout. Don't waste time and energy on negative, dark places that can snowball into depressing thoughts. Every day is a new day, a new opportunity to do good, not just for yourself, but for everyone.
I used to tell my children this montra: Always leave the room a better place after you leave it. Whether that means cheering up a fiend, or picking up clothes on the floor, leave with knowing you did something-ANYTHING that helped the crusade of goodness of that space.
I just hope our next journey is the righteous path for us. But I am no longer paused by being frightened to take chances, as long as I am with my soulmate, the one who rescued me from that dark period. I am stronger because of that time and have found peace. But the struggle will continue to make sounds decisions, but sometimes, you just have to trust in your instincts and trust in God that He will provide.
Love to all who are struggling today. I hope this brings you a smidge of peace in your life.
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