More Death

I am formulating a "year in review" post. I thought I might get it written tonight. But something else has come up.

I can count on one hand the number of funerals I've attended in the five years prior to this year. And, then suddenly, an abundance of death. Maybe this is the sure sign I've be come a silver monkey.

Late this afternoon the Phenom asked if I'd had an acquaintance once upon a time named Harold. I said I did. The Phenom said that an obituary for a Harold was in the paper. And, indeed, it was the Harold I knew.

Harold grew up poor. He barely finished high school. Like many of the local boys, wanted to grow up to be a fireman or a policeman. He was a volunteer firefighter and EMT. He met his wife while saving lives. She saves lives too. They had a young daughter. Harold enrolled in policeman school. Before becoming a policeman, Harold learned that he had MS. He and his wife decided to separate but not divorce so that he might still benefit from her insurance, but also benefit from much earned disability benefits.

Many people might have spent the rest of their days spewing bitterness over such an unkind fate. Harold decided to fill his days volunteering. He became the mascot for the rescue squad after he could no longer save lives. He volunteered for the same hot line I do. That's how I met him. Because his body failed him, he was even better for phone callers. He also understood pain and disappointment. His natural kindness made him a favorite.

One trait much lauded in the south is to "never meet a stranger." Harold indeed never knew a stranger. He was generous and kind and thoughtful and silly. His illness gave him a perspective on parenting that his daughter benefited from. He encouraged her to be strong and to do everything she wanted to do when she could, because there are no guarantees in life. He was one of those humans you never forget.

He died. He had been living in a nursing home --- the same one as his mother -- for several years now.

I can't help but feel that death at the holidays is more cruel for the families. I suspect that his daughter will never again look to the holidays for comfort or joy. I think she'll probably never completely trust that they won't be usurped by sadness.

I was particularly touched by the fireman's honor guard who "stood watch" over his body and the slow, sad, final salute they offered.

You were a good man, Harold.