I have mentioned previously my relatively new preoccupation with the passage of time. I notice it all the time. See, I can't even stop myself from using that word-Time.
This past week the malevolent passage of time crept into my consciousness again, as my nephew turned 10 years old. It's weird to look at a child and see how tall and precocious he has become, when you remember holding him as an infant. Thankfully, he's still really cute and I am not just saying that because he could pass for my child. I mean, not only does he resemble me physically, but he is fantastically smart, and he is just as much of a ham. I am glad my sister enjoys him as much as she does since she squandered her opportunity to enjoy me fully due to our 8.5-year age difference. Well, in all fairness, she was locked in her room most of the time when we were growing up because she was always grounded. But I digress. Anyway, I was trying to wrap my mind around the fact that a decade had passed since his birth, when another family member pulled me into my nephew's room to look at a collage he had put on the wall. It is a collection of photos of his father, who had passed away unexpectedly at the end of June.
It took my breath away as I was plunged into an emotional soup within a second. First, I felt a pang of regret because he and my sister had divorced a couple years ago and I knew this just broke him apart-it really aged him and made him so sad. Naturally, as with most divorces, I didn't stay in close contact with him. However, when I did see him, nothing had changed and our interaction was always enjoyable. Second, my heart went out to this little kid who painstakingly assembled all these photos of his dad. That alone is a tear jerker, but it is accentuated by the fact that a father has never been more enamored by a son, than this man was. You would have thought the sun rose and set on this kid. I mean, just pie-eyed devotion and adoration. Third, I was struck by how quickly 6 months had passed since he died. I had never experienced a death like that before. Typically, the people in my life who have died have been either so peripheral I barely knew them, or they were 1000 years old, rendering their deaths sad but not tragic. What I am trying to say is that I don't think I am able to comprehend that he is no longer living, he has not been living over the past 6 months, and I will never see or hear him again.
One of the pictures in this heartbreaking melange of memorabilia really made me smile. It was one I recognized immediately because I remember it being developed. Even at the time I thought it was a great picture and that it really captured an innocence he possessed. It was a headshot, but I know from memory that he was sitting on the back steps of my parents' house at a cookout. It was my 21st birthday party, and he was wearing just his bathing suit with his trademark thick gold chain that had a big eagle charm on it (this sounds horrible but on him it worked-trust me), and he was looking away from the camera. Most other memories I have of him are filled with big cheesy grins and energy that practically jumps out of a photo, but in this one he is quiet and observant. I don't know if that was just such a rare event that it struck me, but looking at this particular picture has always filled me with the same kind of melancholy I suspect parents feel when they watch peacefulness wash over their child in sleep after he/she has created mayhem all day.
The other image that always comes to my mind when I think of him, and I really mean always, is one of him in my lab on the day I defended my dissertation. My whole family took the day off from work, put on their Sunday best, and attended this auspicious and momentous occasion. I was especially pleased my brother-in-law came because it meant a lot to me that he was willing to take an entire day off so that for 45 minutes he could sit in an uncomfortable chair and listen to what must have sounded like gibberish. After the presentation I was subjected to a private examination with my committee, during which my family was left to be entertained by my friends and colleagues. This was a fantastic opportunity for them to witness some of the everyday workings of the laboratory and apparently, to get involved. I am not sure exactly how the situation played itself out since I was undergoing a revival of the Spanish inquisition (this is a gross over-exaggeration but I am sure for a nanosecond you were impressed that I could withstand the rigors of such academic torture), but I have a photo of my brother-in-law wearing what we called "the big glove", triumphantly holding up a rat. He also wore the big smile and exuded the enthusiam I mentioned before. This man had a zest for life like no one I have ever known. I gave him a lot of credit for letting himself be led around the lab and for being a willing participant. Now granted, that rat had already been euthanized (as part of important research endeavors, not for sport), but still. For the un-initiated the whole scenario can be quite intimidating. Not for this guy, though. He just loved life and experiencing things, and approached everything and everybody with absolute fascination. He lived his life in a very large, loud- and close-talking kind of way. It was infectious and everyone who met him, got a kick out of him. He was always the life of the party. I could go on and on about him, but suffice it to say, I have a lot of admiration for the way he approached life. I hope to emulate it, minus the big gold chain of course.
Yesterday, February 1st, was his birthday. The day after his son's birthday. This contributed to my poignant reminder of Time and I wanted to commemorate the day with some kind of tribute. Happy Birthday, Stormin' Norman!
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