Death and Birthdays
Yesterday I celebrated a birthday. The beginning of a new year of life; and I am grateful.
But ironically, what has moved me most this week has been death. A reminder that life is fragile – not promised. And that sometimes death doesn’t seem fair.
On Monday I chuckled as my son Harrison and I discussed his burning desire to get to Target to buy some Lego’s and Transformers with the gift cards that he received on his 10th birthday last week – September 11th. His birth and enthusiasm serves as a salve for the pain of a day marked by death a decade ago. Each year I am struck by the contrast and give thanks for this miracle.
On Tuesday I attended the funeral for RoseMary Hamer. The event was unexpectedly emotional, draining, reflective and victorious – collectively exhausting.
Ms. Hamer was the principal of Bethune Elementary School, the school where Crystal teaches in the Atlanta Public School System. She had become a friend to our family over the years by being supportive and present – in both professional and personal circumstances. Lest I thought that our family had this unique privilege, the funeral proved me wrong.
Ms. Hamer was also tainted unfairly by the ongoing APS cheating scandal that became public at the end of the summer; and died of cancer before having the opportunity to set the public record straight. (Not to worry, her friends and family made sure to clear that up during the service.)
Then the first call that I received on my birthday, Wednesday, was from Greg Burrell, a friend who owns a successful funeral home in Philadelphia and whose wife is also battling cancer. As Greg and I moved past the pleasantries and onto discussing deals and making money, he stopped to say, “Hey man, nobody likes making money more than me; but I ain’t gotta make all the money! It’s not that important. I’ve seen lots of people make lots of money and they ain’t here to enjoy it. What’s important is making sure my kids are educated and my wife is taken care of.”
Finally, as I went to sleep that night, Troy Davis was being executed by the State of Georgia. Minimally it seems that Mr. Davis was in the wrong place at the wrong time doing the wrong thing; but after 20 years on death row it also seemed clear that there was reasonable doubt that he killed a police officer. Nevertheless, our legal system decided that a lethal injection was equivalent to justice.
So, no wonder I spent my birthday this year happy, relaxed and thankful, but not really celebratory. Death seemed all around me.
But what better reason to live – and to consider what living means.
My family and I went to Five Guys earlier on Wednesday evening for a lavish dinner of cheeseburgers and fries. It was a cool September evening as we sat under umbrellas near the strip center parking lot. We talked and laughed with our friend Savita, and the boys threw peanuts at one another and their buddy Jackson. And as we stood to leave, Henry IV said, “Daddy, look at the horizon – its hot pink!”
Now that’s living! Happy birthday to me!