Day # 57 - Perspective

I was sitting there and when I heard it, I knew it had to be an exaggeration. A figure of speech. No way he could be dead. We walked to where his room was to check. People were standing around the door, looking at one another. No one was saying much of anything. One person was already on the phone, presumably talking to 911.

I asked the first thing that came to mind: whether anyone had checked his pulse. No one had. I went inside to do it and there he was on the floor, face down, at peace. I couldn't bring myself to touch him, but I already knew why no one else had.

And in that moment, something in me changed.

It was my birthday, a day I call inventory day. I look back at the 365 days since my last birthday and I measure my progress. The improvement isn't always that impressive. But that moment, looking at this man, changed everything. That evening, as I sat there, having dinner, I couldn't stop the tears. I couldn't stop thinking about how some of us will have lives that will be celebrated, chronicled, and written about, while some of us barely register a blip. His name was Vincent. I barely knew him. It was the first time I have ever seen something like this. I can't speak for anyone else, but with me, he registered much more than a blip. Vincent was my catalyst. I found out he hadn't spoken to his father for over 35 years. Knowing that he never will makes me hurt all over. There is no tomorrow and we've spent all our yesterdays. All we have is the now. The here.

As bad as I felt for Vincent, my heart is breaking, shattering, for his father. Vincent has moved on but his father is left only with regret and the 35 year old memory of a son whom he will never see again. I'm left to wonder: how did it get to that? How do we let things get so out of hand. I think of my own son, my oldest boy Steven, and I see that it can happen. It doesn't matter who is right or wrong, all that matters is that today is all there is. Steven and I are so much alike that it seems we will never get along. We rarely talk without it breaking down into a fight. I can't change him, but I am changing me. I miss my boy and I want to be a bigger part of his life. I have added a new goal.

Last night, as I lay in bed, all I could think was that Vincent's death meant more than it seemed. How he died wasn't the point. The cause, the place, none of it mattered. That I happened to be there, that it happened on my birthday, that I went in there with the intention of taking his pulse and couldn't bring myself to touch him, that the casual attitude of some of the people around me offended me so deeply it nearly brought me to tears, that the tears finally found their way out; all this tells me it meant more than just something that may or may not make the news; something that may or may not matter to a world that is so big and moving so fast that human beings don't have the time to be human beings.

Vincent's life mattered. It matters. It matters to me. It has changed everything. A little bit of whatever good I do during my remaining time on this planet will belong to Vincent Clingerman. This is his legacy.

Today's Lessons:

- If you love someone, do not set them free. All that other stuff is nonsense.
- Tell the people you love how much they mean to you. Do it now. There is no later. Later is an abstraction.
- Make your life count. Use your life to improve the world. Start with yourself and let it grow.

Today's Declarations:

- Day by day in every way I am getting better and better.
- I will make my life count.
- I will add value to my life by adding value to the lives of others.


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