Life and Death and Hope
There have been very few periods of my life that were filled with such contradicting and competing events and emotions. These past few days have been one of them.
September 11 was really the catalyst for my becoming a political junkie. Since then, I've developed an almost unhealthy addiction to reading news and opinion sources online. Like many liberals, I'd come to the conclusion that George Bush was one of the most blatantly disingenuous politicians in office, that the Administration would be one of the worst in American history, and that the Republican Party was running from it's limited government roots to embrace the worst aspects of religious fanaticism that's at the root of the problems we face in the Middle East.
Needless to say, I've been looking forward to today for a very long time. And now it's here.
This entire weekend, I'd basically been counting down the hours until the inauguration. I was so happy that my son would grow up knowing that Barack Obama was the president, much like (for better or worse) I grew up with Ronald Reagan.
So many of my friends have had babies just within the last 12 months. Kingston, Andrew, Cory Lynn, Cody Wrinn, Ashlyn, Gianna, Sophie, and Samuel. And, of course, Kai.
So much new life in the world, and so much to hope for.
Barbara and I took Kai to the beach for the first time on Saturday. We walked up and down the coast watching the sun slowly set over the cloudless horizon. It was beautiful and I hope I never forget the feeling of contentedness within me. The moment reminded me how much I truly love my wife and son, and how much I'm looking forward to watching him grow old.
We went back to the beach on Sunday to watch the sunset again, this time with family, friends, and a few pizzas. While we were there enjoying each other's company, we were interrupted by flashing lights and screaming sirens. Several lifeguard trucks had sped onto the beach and parked facing the water, with their lights still on. An ambulance pulled up beside them. About 10 or so people paddled out from the beach, looking around. A helicopter showed up a few minutes later, shining it's spotlight into the water. It was an odd feeling -- a mixture of uncomfortableness and guilt -- to sit around enjoying the evening and realizing that someone very likely had just died out in the dark water.
We stayed at the beach, transfixed, hoping against hope that we'd hear the good news that the surfer they were looking for was found, but after a while the search team paddled back to shore, the helicopter flew away, and we packed up our things and headed home.
For some reason, I checked my email before taking a shower that night. Awaiting me was a note informing me that a former colleague of mine had died of a heart attack a few years earlier. He was 30 years old, and left behind a wife and 5-month old son, Samuel.
That short note knocked the wind out of me. Not because Adam and I were very close, but because in the short time we worked together, I knew him to be a good man, a loving husband, and that he would have been a terrific father. He and I probably would have disagreed on almost everything outside of work, but in the office we shared a bond of software, sarcasm, and movie quotes. It was strange to meet someone who at once struck me as so totally opposite and yet so totally similar.
And at 30 years young, he's gone.
And now I'm left with this emotional cocktail of grief, guilt, anger, and awareness of my own mortality... and at the same time of tremendous happiness and excitement and hope and optimism.
Adam has reminded me that there are no small moments in life. I hope that I don't soon forget the lesson, and that I'm around long enough to teach it to Kai.
Stay safe, and if you love someone don't dare forget to tell them so.
September 11 was really the catalyst for my becoming a political junkie. Since then, I've developed an almost unhealthy addiction to reading news and opinion sources online. Like many liberals, I'd come to the conclusion that George Bush was one of the most blatantly disingenuous politicians in office, that the Administration would be one of the worst in American history, and that the Republican Party was running from it's limited government roots to embrace the worst aspects of religious fanaticism that's at the root of the problems we face in the Middle East.
Needless to say, I've been looking forward to today for a very long time. And now it's here.
This entire weekend, I'd basically been counting down the hours until the inauguration. I was so happy that my son would grow up knowing that Barack Obama was the president, much like (for better or worse) I grew up with Ronald Reagan.
So many of my friends have had babies just within the last 12 months. Kingston, Andrew, Cory Lynn, Cody Wrinn, Ashlyn, Gianna, Sophie, and Samuel. And, of course, Kai.
So much new life in the world, and so much to hope for.
Barbara and I took Kai to the beach for the first time on Saturday. We walked up and down the coast watching the sun slowly set over the cloudless horizon. It was beautiful and I hope I never forget the feeling of contentedness within me. The moment reminded me how much I truly love my wife and son, and how much I'm looking forward to watching him grow old.
We went back to the beach on Sunday to watch the sunset again, this time with family, friends, and a few pizzas. While we were there enjoying each other's company, we were interrupted by flashing lights and screaming sirens. Several lifeguard trucks had sped onto the beach and parked facing the water, with their lights still on. An ambulance pulled up beside them. About 10 or so people paddled out from the beach, looking around. A helicopter showed up a few minutes later, shining it's spotlight into the water. It was an odd feeling -- a mixture of uncomfortableness and guilt -- to sit around enjoying the evening and realizing that someone very likely had just died out in the dark water.
We stayed at the beach, transfixed, hoping against hope that we'd hear the good news that the surfer they were looking for was found, but after a while the search team paddled back to shore, the helicopter flew away, and we packed up our things and headed home.
For some reason, I checked my email before taking a shower that night. Awaiting me was a note informing me that a former colleague of mine had died of a heart attack a few years earlier. He was 30 years old, and left behind a wife and 5-month old son, Samuel.
That short note knocked the wind out of me. Not because Adam and I were very close, but because in the short time we worked together, I knew him to be a good man, a loving husband, and that he would have been a terrific father. He and I probably would have disagreed on almost everything outside of work, but in the office we shared a bond of software, sarcasm, and movie quotes. It was strange to meet someone who at once struck me as so totally opposite and yet so totally similar.
And at 30 years young, he's gone.
And now I'm left with this emotional cocktail of grief, guilt, anger, and awareness of my own mortality... and at the same time of tremendous happiness and excitement and hope and optimism.
Adam has reminded me that there are no small moments in life. I hope that I don't soon forget the lesson, and that I'm around long enough to teach it to Kai.
Stay safe, and if you love someone don't dare forget to tell them so.
posted by Nik at
11:51 PM
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