Posted 12:17 am Sunday, July 25, 2010
An Unwelcome Visitor
We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love. ~Madame de Stael
In the last year, three men have died around the age of 50. Two of the men I knew and the other was only brought to my attention through the news of his death. It takes us out of our comfort zone for people to die "early" by our standards. It just makes sense when people have lived a full life according to some sense of life expectancy or actuarial table, right?
These "early exits" by those around us leave us with questions to ponder as individuals, families and as a community. They force us to examine our mortality, even the absolute lack of control over the moment of our last heartbeat.
Then we learn things about people at their memorial services we never knew. Why does it take death to point out the best things in a person's life? Shouldn't we be sorting that out sooner, while it matters?
Eulogists try to offer us comfort to make sense of it all. Words frame people such as kindness, friend, affable, softspoken, helpful, influencer, firm, staunch and committed.
Pastors remind us faith is sufficient to endure the pain of the moment, and that, with time, it will subside. One pastor said hugs, fried chicken and Dr Pepper play a role as well. Phrases define more: "Comfortable in their own skin, fought the good fight, don't forget quickly."
Tim King and Jay Kimmey were 2 and 4 years older than me. Their recent deaths at 48 and 50 rocked the circles of their communities. I knew Tim from the time we were boys. We played tennis at the Tyler Tennis and Swim Club under the direction of a delightful old tennis pro named Morey Lewis. Morey was a heavy-set contradiction of a tennis "pro" but a delightful and encouraging personality.
He took an interest in the junior players. When he had the chance he would point out the players he regarded as special. One day he put his arm around me and said, "Nelson, your game is developing well, but if you want to be really good, you're gonna have to work as hard as old Tim King over there." His outstretched arm pointed to Tim hitting balls by himself against a practice wall. He was a frequent occupant of that area.
Tim was the most diligent junior when it came to practice. He was also one of the kindest of all the kids at the "club." As time went by, the qualities evident in Tim's youth were refined into a beautiful life and career. His consistency was as predictable in a business or social setting as on a tennis court. He was a pleasure to know and regarded by his community as more than a mere asset.
Jay Kimmey and I met later in life. Our boys Jamie and Will are the same age and their activities brought us together. Talking to Jay I learned he attended West Point, a high honor for any student. At his services I learned he was valedictorian of his high school class. No surprise there. Jay seemed to know something about almost everything.
We took the boys to a car show once, which for me was merely a visual experience. For Jay, it was a walk down memory lane. He knew about the details of the cars and what made their make, model and engines special. My occasional visits with him were intellectually stimulating. At his services, it was noted by speakers that simply being around him made them better, more excellent as a result of his personal excellence.
In each case my acquaintance with these men never materialized into them coming over for dinner or spending extended time the way closer relationships mandate, but I regarded them each with the utmost respect and admiration. It was never my opportunity to tell them so during the times we encountered one another. It might have been a little weird if I had tried.
I never met Todd Henry until his death made front page news in our newspaper. He was the teacher police say was killed by one of his students last year at John Tyler High School. The shock of the way he died horrified our community and almost overshadowed the fact he was "young" by most standards. His selflessness was extolled throughout numerous accounts of his life. A tribute to him on the back window of a vehicle reminded me of the simultaneous tragedies his death rendered on our community and his family.
Hindsight and time are the only mechanisms we have for wrapping our minds around such unpleasant experiences. When we get a little further down the road, we may see how our community rallied around Todd Henry's death in a way that influenced lives for the better.
The strength it must take for a child to grow up without a father sometimes makes people special leaders. It did in the case of my friend whose father died when he was 2 years old. Somehow Kevin overcame his circumstance to be one of the most respected leaders in our community and state. It helped that his mother was an extraordinary individual, raising three children as a single mom. Or did the adversity he faced growing up without a dad prepare him perfectly to be the leader he is? On this side of life, we may never know the answer.
The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive - perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine. ~Mignon McLaughlin
Good men, women and children die every day. For the living, our challenge is to move forward and learn from our experiences. Perhaps those we admire from a distance need the encouragement in life to press on rather than the celebration of their excellence in death. Those we love need to know it, feel it and have it reiterated in thought and deed. Joy should not exist only as a reflection of the past but should be celebrated now with the living.
In the Jewish tradition, being "remembered" and having one's name spoken is an important and special practice. All of us would like to be remembered for something good wouldn't we? My encouragement to you today is to "remember" the living. You never know when it will be too late.
In memory of Nelson Clyde III, 1945-2007
