For the past five months, I've been constantly thinking about a possible transition from my last post. The truth is, while my student's death shook me, I couldn't really comprehend what happened, or what was to come.
We don't get to choose the people that come into our lives. I have to say that I've truly been blessed with the greatest family that God could have provided. My father, for instance, is a strong person. I grew up watching him do everything from replace the light bulb in my bedroom to repairing whole car engines. He has the best sense of humor, even taught me certain aspects of cooking, and, to this day, provides the simplest solution to any problem that I have. I don't think there's a person in this world that is like my father, can compare to the emotional strength of my mother, or has the genuine heart of my brother.
However, in my thirty-plus years on this planet, there are people who have come in and out of my life that have taught me lessons along the way as well.
Since I could remember, Sid was my father's best friend. As a child, I never appreciated his wisdom, sense of humor, or zest for life. I didn't realize the friendship that he and my father shared - or the fact that they were showing my brother and I what real friendship was. Sid would go on month-long vacations and call my Dad as soon as he returned. Every project that my father had, Sid was there and vice versa. Summers were spent in our garage or Sid's house.
The thing was, to us, Sid and my father seemed so opposite. For one, Sid was over six feet tall, while my father stands at 5'6". Moreover, Sid loved to travel abroad and try new things. For the past 33 years, my father has the same haircut. And with the exception of two or three states, has never left Queens. However, despite their differences, Sid and my father were simply there for each other - as true friends were.
It was only in my 20's did I see the person that Sid was. When I started painting, I remember how impressed he was with a simple sketch that I had on display in our tiny basement. As soon as I became a teacher, Sid gave me plenty of advice as a former teacher himself, and looked at me with the same sense of pride as my own family did. He also encouraged me to travel - see the world for all it has to offer - while I was still young. The fact of the matter is, Sid had a sincere love for life...and he wanted everyone to feel the same way.
Three years ago, Sid was diagnosed with Glioblastoma - the most aggressive form of brain cancer. I don't think we took it as seriously as we should have - after all, one very similar trait that he shared with my father was strength and resilience. He also had everything that he wanted out of life - including his true soul mate, Cheryl. Also, Sid seemed to have a positive attitude about everything, including his illness. He made jokes even when he could barely open his eyes or move his mouth. We all believed that he could make it out of anything.
As time passed, we saw Sid as we never thought we'd see him. My brother and I watched our parents visit every weekend until there were no weekends left. We watched Cheryl laugh through tears, as though for both herself and Sid. He watched life as he once knew it disappear around him, holding on for as long as he possibly could.
It was only until his death in July do I think my father realized that his best friend was truly gone. At his funeral services, people were lined up, ready to talk about the great person that Sid was. My mother, brother and I told him to speak, or perhaps we could speak on his behalf. My father, being the person that he was, quietly shook his head "no," stayed seated, hands folded, strong and grounded as always. I often wonder what went through his head on that day - and everyday.
Unlike Sid, and even my student, who unfortunately, both knew their fate to some extent, a childhood friend, Corhen, suddenly passed away last Friday. He was only 29 years old - and one of the nicest people I've ever met. I just saw him at a friend's barbecue about a week ago, not knowing that it would be the last time I'd see him. When I heard the news of his death, I simply did not believe it. I thought my friend had the wrong person, or perhaps he was in a hospital, recovering. When his death was confirmed, I began thinking of all the times I saw him at my friend's house, laughing, dancing and hugging everyone he knew, filling the room with positivity and love.
In 2008, my best friend suddenly lost his father. I received the phone call on an early Saturday morning and didn't understand what he was saying through his tear-filled voice. Here was a man who made me feel like family as soon as I stepped into his home since I was 14 years old. I just didn't get it.
I don't think I'll ever understand why these things happen. I've recently witnessed four deaths that just didn't make any sense - three of them in the span of five months. As my mother says, is it because their purpose in this world has been fulfilled? Or, as others put it, maybe Heaven only takes the good? I'm beginning to think that it might also be small signs, telling us that time is borrowed and life is merely a fleeting moment.
In the meantime, I have no choice but to remember those that have passed for what they have given me - and that, is hope.
Hope in finding true happiness.
Hope in having the ability to give and receive love.
And most importantly, hope in making today better than yesterday - because in the end, that's all we really have.
