Remembering...

"A man that hath friends must show himself friendly."

- Proverbs 18:24: Bible

“I’m in Los Angeles seeing patients tomorrow and will be back by 4:30PM.  I’ll give you a call.”

That’s the way it ended…not the way it started.

It was a brilliantly sunny afternoon as we looked out over the harbor.  San Diego is a busy port for commerce, military and recreation. Coronado Island, on the Western side contains a Naval base. while the city hugs the Eastern shore.  This October day helicopters, propeller driven fixed wing and jet aircraft cut their way through clear blue afternoon skies.  A small Naval Cruiser powered its way home toward the Port after maneuvers, accompanied by any number of small sail boats coming and going on this warm Autumn’s day.

Our vantage point was Point Loma, a finger of land that lies on the Southwestern point of the seaward entrance.  When standing by the statue of Juan Rodríguez Cabrillo, the Portuguese adventurer who first discovered this natural protectorate…one sees the Port of San Diego to the left and to the right the distant horizons of the Pacific Ocean… from the concreteness of the city on one side to the ‘mysterious and unknown waters’ on the other.

The loss…

In spite of the beautiful setting, we had not come for the view.  A different reason had brought us here this sunny day day.  A quarter of a mile from the ‘Point’ is another landmark – The Roscrans National Cemetery where thousands of military veteran’s remains “…rest in peace.”  Acres of neatly rowed headstones, lush green and freshly mown grass represented the reality of men and women who had given part, and for some, their all to protect a way of life unique in this troubled world.

Some were born in the in the late 1800s serving in the World Wars I,II and Korea.  Others came later…finding themselves in Vietnam or the Middle Eastern conflicts of Iraq and Afghanistan.  The common thread?  A commitment to offer something of themselves for the gifts they had received.

While we were mindful of this, Scott and I had not come to honor the men and women who had committed and sacrificed for our country.  We surely appreciated their service, but we had come to visit the resting place of just one – our friend Vert. 

Vert had served in the military qualifying him for this resting place…Vert had influenced his profession as few others…Vert had for some unknown and possibly cosmic reason taken us under his wing…Vert, had taken a one-way ticket to work that Southern Californian morning and slipped away this date two years earlier in an unexpected car crash…robbing us of our friend and mentor…his influence expressed thoughtfully in these words:

“…therefore, in the intimacy existing between friends…the superior should put himself on the level with his inferior, so the latter ought not to grieve that he is surpassed by the former in intellect, fortune, or position”

–       Cicero M, De Amicitia

(On Friendship)

There was little doubt he surpassed all of us, but in action conveyed the meaning of Cicero’s words.

And then he was gone…

The timing, the abruptness, the ragged tearing of a fabric that somehow had seemed invincible, was unkind.  He had given us much from his storehouse of knowledge and wisdom and thoughtfulness, yet there was more…he gave of himself – the gift of his gentleness, and faith, and understanding and yes, his love.  His real investment timeless – for there is little doubt the intimate touch of the human spirit has no time.

That’s the thing about death isn’t it?  Quickly, with unexpected suddenness or painfully slow, it seems to lack mercy – for those who remain.  If we have been touched by another’s spirit, the loss somehow shakes us deeply, in places we do not understand, nor can we adequately express.  So it had been with Vert – in this case abrupt…unexpected…seemingly out of place…painfully real. 

Reflection takes many paths…

It was this quiet and intimate time two friends, so profoundly influenced by this man, agreed to meet…clearing schedules to touch a little shared and common ground…and so we did…so we did.

One would think that in moments like this the conversation would have drifted to the many times with and lessons learned from Vert – Scott surely more than I. 

Vert was, of little doubt, a giant in the field to which he had dedicated his life.  There is little in the shaping of the world of spinal care that was not influenced by his thought process and prolific writing…and yet we spoke little of this. 

We chatted quietly about family…some about the day and the beautiful site into which his remains had been interred…how the compass of our lives had been changed as a result of his influence.  Maybe we were really hoping we had become the men that Vert saw, invested and expected of us…preparing to pass our lives on to others as he so selflessly had done for us.

Words aren’t really needed

There is something reverent in the intimate pathways of lives that intersect…a sacredness difficult to put into words.  At this ‘place’ quiet expressions and brief glances carry with them a ‘knowing’ that the even most elegant vocabulary could not manage.   So it was in this instance.  The proximity of two friends for this time, on this day, was sufficient…we ‘knew’ and that was enough. 

In truth it is never about the moments, the events, or the experiences we share with one an other but the spirit that touches us so deeply…the experiences, the events and moments together with Vert provided the vehicle through which a deeper partaking had occurred.

Gratitude cultivates humility…

Mostly, we gave each other a mutual permission – with an undercurrent of common knowledge and experience that did not need words.  We invested our spirit into each other, in some unspoken way, knowing that when our time came words would not be enough to express what we had meant to each other.

Being together on this day in this place was enough to once more quietly mourn our loss and celebrate his life.

Even in death, his life continues to influence and resonate.

Isn’t this the way it ought to be?

- ted