"Long as I Can See the Light," Creedence Clearwater Revival
As the memorable William Parrish in Meet Joe Black, Anthony Hopkins, gazing out at the illustrious scene of his birthday party, says to his daughter: "What a glorious night. Every face I see is a memory. It may not be a perfectly perfect memory. Sometimes we had our ups and downs. But we're all together, and you're mine for a night. And I'm going to break precedence and tell you my one candle wish: that you would have a life as lucky as mine, where you can wake up one morning and say, 'I don't want anything more.' 65 years...don't they go by in a blink?" It's poignant and endearing and impossible to watch through clear, dry eyes. Two nights ago, we celebrated my great-uncle's 89th birthday, and I was reminded of this scene as I sat next to him.
"It feels like yesterday," said my Uncle Jim, "that I was turning 69. And I remember thinking, 'I hope I make it ten more years; I'd really like to see the turn of the century.' And now here I am, a decade after that, and I'm still blowing out my birthday candles. The time just flies by..."
On the heels of Uncle Jim's birthday celebration, however, I joined members of my community to celebrate the years of a life taken too soon. Last night, I attended a memorial service for a student of mine who was killed in a hit and run last week. It was heartbreaking. I watched former and current students wipe their eyes and bow their heads in remembrance, cautiously placing their hats in their laps and tripping over their Vans, which were caught in the awkward length of their hardly-worn black pants. I watched photos of Steven's short life flash across the screen; an 8-year-old with a missing tooth and a baseball bat, a 12-year old with a goofy grin and a face full of birthday cake. I watched his mother hug an almost-endless line of people expressing their condolences. Memories. Hurt. Love. It was devastating. As beautiful as it was to watch the students of Carlsbad come together in reminiscence of their peer and friend, it was equally disheartening to accept the death of an 18-year-old. It was one of life's most dramatic reminders that, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, a tomorrow is never guaranteed. And in the wake of my uncle's 89th birthday and my student's extinguished life, it's easy to appreciate life's little things today. Bailey waking up this morning, tangled in the blankets, stretching with half-closed eyes. The e-mail from a former student informing me she was accepted to New Mexico State. Grilled chicken in the fridge and 2 new episodes of Always Sunny saved in the DVR. The harder part, however, is remembering to appreciate life's little things always. To not get too angry at the impatient driver who cut me off on the 5. To dust off today's mistakes and move on, with a clear head, to tomorrow. Because to do so is to plan for a life where, one day, I can look around and confidently say, "I don't want anything more."
On the heels of Uncle Jim's birthday celebration, however, I joined members of my community to celebrate the years of a life taken too soon. Last night, I attended a memorial service for a student of mine who was killed in a hit and run last week. It was heartbreaking. I watched former and current students wipe their eyes and bow their heads in remembrance, cautiously placing their hats in their laps and tripping over their Vans, which were caught in the awkward length of their hardly-worn black pants. I watched photos of Steven's short life flash across the screen; an 8-year-old with a missing tooth and a baseball bat, a 12-year old with a goofy grin and a face full of birthday cake. I watched his mother hug an almost-endless line of people expressing their condolences. Memories. Hurt. Love. It was devastating. As beautiful as it was to watch the students of Carlsbad come together in reminiscence of their peer and friend, it was equally disheartening to accept the death of an 18-year-old. It was one of life's most dramatic reminders that, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not, a tomorrow is never guaranteed. And in the wake of my uncle's 89th birthday and my student's extinguished life, it's easy to appreciate life's little things today. Bailey waking up this morning, tangled in the blankets, stretching with half-closed eyes. The e-mail from a former student informing me she was accepted to New Mexico State. Grilled chicken in the fridge and 2 new episodes of Always Sunny saved in the DVR. The harder part, however, is remembering to appreciate life's little things always. To not get too angry at the impatient driver who cut me off on the 5. To dust off today's mistakes and move on, with a clear head, to tomorrow. Because to do so is to plan for a life where, one day, I can look around and confidently say, "I don't want anything more."
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honour the charge they made!
-"The Charge of the Light Brigade," Alfred Lord Tennyson
Steven Anthony Kelley
1992-2010
Rest in Peace
Steven Anthony Kelley
1992-2010
Rest in Peace
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