This is the one picture I took in New York (on the wall of the Roseland Ballroom, which is undergoing renovation) that simply could not share the stage with any other. Thanks, Garris, for pointing it out as we walked past on 52nd Street.
Today would have been the 52nd birthday of my brother, Luke, who died in 1991. He died at 34, my Uncle Roger died at 38, and everyone among you can reel off any number of unfair and arbitrary deaths of those who died too young or too unfairly. I used to take the irrationality of who lives and who dies, of who suffers and who doesn't, as proof that God couldn't possibly exist, or that "he" was on holiday or extremely incompetent, not worthy of honor or worship.
Now I am more inclined to take comfort in my complete inability to make sense of it all. All I know is that for every horror story there is a miraculous one, that suffering seems to go hand in hand with redemption. There are some 6 billion extraordinarily complex beings upon this earth, marvels each and everyone of them. Some will die early or horribly, many will live brutish lives, all will have moments of utter bleakness and absolute joy. It is a messy business, this living, but I can't reject some of it and embrace the rest. It's either Not-God-at-All or All-God, and out of those two contrary and outlandish notions, I have decided All-God is even less ridiculous than All-not-God.
I don't really think there is a reason that Luke died and I didn't. But I do seem endowed with the capacity to make my life all the more meaningful for having survived when he didn't. And I'm pretty sure that capacity is not something I'm responsible for. It is a gift from a power or energy or whatever you want to call it that I strongly suspect supercedes the composition of DNA in my cells over millions of years of evolution dating from a Big Bang that just happened for no particular reason.
On a practical level, today honoring my brother means collaborating on a project with my sister on writing this Math textbook she's been working on for a couple of years. Luke always encouraged me professionally, while calling me on my bullshit way more than I preferred but even less than I deserved. I am actually feeling his presence today, his pride in his younger siblings working together. There is no greater birthday present I can give him than getting to work.
MCO 2008
You are a very nice tribute to your brother (no, that's not one of my weird typos. Living well, being fully committed to life and all of its joys and sorrows is the most loving tribute that you can make in memory of your brother; I think that you're doing well in honoring Luke.
Kudos to Garris for pointing out that wonderfully ironic sign.