Life and Death

There is an agent in my office named Alex. He is young, approximately 29 or 30. He is about to have a child with his wife. A young little creature is expected to make his presence known in this world in a week or two. Alex is the same age I was when I went to Bolivia and had a child of my own. When I see him it reminds me of those days. Being young and trying to establish your place in the world. Becoming a father. At that time of life I had just met two close friends who I have stayed in touch with throughout my life. Both were significantly older than me. Alfredo was less, probably six years older than me. Ira was much more senior.  Our age difference was more like 24 years. By the time you hit your late 20’s and move into your 30’s you realize that age doesn’t mean so much anymore. When you are young it is everything and then its magnified. In your teens a friend more than a year or two from your age is almost inconceivable. A person more than 10 years older seems positively ancient. With time this all seems to melt away as commonality and circumstance seem to transpose youth. You realize the human experience in its entirety is far more important that the short term perception of wrinkles on ones’ face or fat in one’s belly. As companions in life my friendship with these two men has been a cornerstone of my thoughts, memories and existence. Each in their own way teach me things and give value to my life. 

Ira’s Great Grandfather Ben Zion Edelman

Ira is dying. He has been dying for 10 years now but he is finally reaching the end of his journey. He fought his cancer valiantly but it is finally getting the best of him as horrendously expensive medicines are no longer able to beat it back. It seems like as we age we become more familiar with death than life as more people reach the end of their lives. What do you say, what do you think, what do you do? They all seem like universal questions with no decent answers. I sent Ira a note telling him that I loved him and that he will always walk with me in life and in death. For his part he is positive in a negative way. He accepts his fate and is ready for it  to pass. At some point death seems to become a relief. Awhile ago I did Ira’s genealogy. At least explored it as much as I could. He is an Ashkenazi Jew and had a difficult connection to his father and family. They probably could never understand him. I found out that his family name was actually changed at some point to Wald from its original Wilinski during immigration. I relished the photographs I found of his mother, father and distant Lithuanian and Ukrainian relatives. Those in Europe likely all perished in the Holocaust. I documented as much as I could and sent it to his son Michael for him and his sisters. I don’t know if Ira could understand why I did it but for myself I felt it as a kind of gift knowing that he would become one of the names recorded, locked away and eventually forgotten. Such is life. 

It is strange, I have a strong paternal connection to Ira’s son Michael. I have known him since he was a teenager and I have a strong desire to be there for him. He is truly a good man and perhaps I see him as a reflection of my dying friend. After all, when we die the most real way we live on is through the lives of our offspring. This lasts at most a couple generations and eventually, like everything else, falls away as time passes. This is life, we are bookmarked by births and by deaths. It is the fundamental truth to the human existence. It is a wheel that can’t be stopped no matter how much we wish we could.