I bumped into it in the throes of a paroxysm of house cleaning and purging back in a dusty corner in my office. It was actually still in the cardboard box it came in. Leather-bound, and still handsome after, what? Maybe 70 years? The scuffs and the sprung latch on the right side are the legacy of my dad’s many train trips to Philly, to Johnstown, to New York and Jersey. It was never really big enough for a week away from home, but it was what he could afford. He had to stuff his things in there and sit on it to close it, which explains the latch.
I wiped the dust off it, and placed it gently on the bed, and Charlie was there with me for a moment. The tears just poured down my face. It was 46 years ago, right around this time of year, and the hurt is still there. He was such a good guy, such a kind and warm man, such a great father, and he was only 54. Why in the name of God did that have to happen?
Almost exactly a year ago, I damn near died. The experience has been transformative, as I guess it is for many people who have had a confrontation with the hereafter. I have spent the last 12 months making some big changes in my life, and I have learned or rediscovered a good many things. I know how much I’m cared for. I know how many calories are in a 12 ounce beer. I know what’s important to me and what is less so. I know how to do a good dead lift and a decent push-up. I have learned to be much happier, with much less. I have learned to be grateful. Maybe the most important lesson, for me at least, has been about time.
I brood on the past. It’s inherent in my profession, in my interests, in my nature. I tend to view current events, both public and personal, through the lens of history. In the last year, I’ve gotten much better at making peace with all that water under the bridge. The value of history is in what it can teach you, not in second-guessing it. What you owe to the dear and departed is your love, not your longing. Your mistakes and misfortunes can be instructive or they can be regrettable, but you get to decide which. In the very short time that we all spend here on this earth, your past can be your inspiration or it can be a short chain that binds you in darkness. As I learned, it can actually kill you.
So I prefer now to look forward. This day, every day, is a gift, a chance to learn, to be kind, to take delight. There are a limited number of them. What I owe myself, what I owe this world, what I owe all the folks who love me and cared for me and saved my life, is my best effort on every one. What will matter when I’m gone is the good I do, the kindness I show, the folks I can teach and help and care for, right now. The tragedies and mistakes of my past can stay there, I don’t have time for them anymore.
What I most want to recall about Charlie isn’t his early death, but him. I remember his laugh, his big voice and his boundless sense of humor, his kindness, his ready willingness to volunteer and to help anyone with anything. I was lucky beyond imagining that I had him in my life.
When I opened Charlie’s suitcase I found it empty, and I closed it again, and I put it away in a safe palace. The tears passed as suddenly as they had come.
I wish you all the Happiest Holidays imaginable…
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