The empty seat at the table...

I don’t try to mark time so much presently. Days go by, running together, passing at a faster and faster rate. I succumb to the denial all manage as we grow older, the point where you’re not anticipating another birthday, just trying to ignore it. Oddly though, much as life may inevitably change - much as you try to resist change, constants are still in every person’s life to contrast that change. One such constant for me has been and remains seeing family at the holidays.

I’m not the baby of the family anymore, graduating to the ‘grown ups’ table long ago but unquestionably, comfort is still derived in being around ‘your people.’ People you know and love. People connected by the ties of blood or marriage who accompany you for the better part of your ride through life. People you see each and every year at certain times. Those who can recall a time when you weren’t marked by the bumps and bruises accumulated during your time here on earth.

Family is important. I find as I get older, it becomes even more important to me. I never thought of myself as having much in the way of family so, I am thankful for what little family I possess. Ironically, as I grow to enjoy being around my family more, there is less time left to me enjoy their company.

Each family has its own traditions. One of ours is the post meal card game. I couldn’t tell you when the game really started but, I do remember joining in somewhere during my late teens or early twenties. Being able to play in the game was a special privelege, a great boon if you would, a rite of passage from the recesses of childhood into the adult world. Accepted into the pantheon that was the core of players. Over the years some came, others went but, a select few of our number wound up sitting down after dinner and before coffee year in - year out. Admittedly as the number of games mounted, I found myself increasingly looking forward to each game. Our tradition, the menfolk sitting down, pretending to be big shots among one and other in our high stakes game of quarters.

Play cards with the same people through the years and you come to recognize the kind of player a person is. You get surprised every now and again but it doesn’t matter because the game itself, the banter, the company, just being there is what’s fun. Also, age becomes less of a barrier as you rack up time on the planet. A gap of ten or twenty years doesn’t mean as much as it did when you were younger. You start seeing people as they are rather than what you imagine them to be.



Well, we lost a player last week.

I’m not good enough to be able to do a man justice and sum up his life in a few sentences. What I can say is our last card game was at Christmas. Christmas was at Bob and Linda’s house. Bob broke out the new tabletop he had gotten for a gift from his son-in-law. He beamed with pride over the big holiday score, along with the nice set of chips, it wound up being a treat for all of us, a step closer to legimitizing our game. We played, we joked, we did all the same good natured ribbing of each other we all enjoyed.

I may be mistaken but, I’m thinking Bob was the big winner that day. Now, six short months later he is gone.

We went to visit him at the hospital last week - appropriately enough on the day where the sky opened up with rain. Bob had been asleep since Saturday and my cousin had been at his side standing vigil. It was tough on her, she had hardly been away from his side since he was admitted to the hospital almost two weeks prior but, you spend thirty years with someone I imagine you don’t ever want to ponder a day when they won’t be with you anymore.

Bob didn’t look at all like the smiling man who gleefully piled his chips before him. There was an ever increasing wall as his winnings mounted. The happy, vivacious charlatan has been spirited away and replaced by a small frail figure. Occasionally, his slight frame evidenced a great shudder showing the incredible weight of his illness. Sitting in the small room it was hard to reconcile the man I knew with the ravaged figure before me.

There wasn’t a shortage of people though, well-wishers, friends, family. People whose lives had been affected by Bob, by his energy, his joy of life. It is at these moments bearing witness to a person stirring the last embers of a precious fire before it dims, you confront mortality, you wonder what the measure of a person truly is. How can success or failure be measured? What is the legacy a person leaves behind?

Sitting in his hospital room and over the subsequent days after Bob’s passing I came to realize the measure of life’s wealth and simply put it is in the lives we touch. As the fates would have it, Bob turned out to be one of the wealthiest men I have ever had the privelege to know and he will be sorely missed.