Celebrating Graham's Hyphen By Gene Seidman
January 12, 2007
I awakened at 4:16 this morning in Connecticut and chose my cufflinks very carefully, because I knew eleven hours later I would be attending, what could easily be one of the saddest of occasions.
So I thought about the day ahead – what to say – how to make sense of it all –a modern tragedy or a modern celebration. You see, I’m an optimist by nature. I was born six weeks premature in 1957 at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City. As my parents recounted to me – I was “a little yellow thing.” So I can relate in some small measure.
As I said, I’m an optimist, and so are Nick and Jenn. Truth is, you don’t get to decide when you’re born or when you leave. You do get to decide the hyphen. I’m talking about the hyphen between when Graham was born in 2006 and 2007.
I’m here today to celebrate Graham’s hyphen:
A hyphen of determination
A hyphen of joy
A hyphen of ups and downs
A hyphen of valor
A hyphen of despair
But ultimately a hyphen of love.
Graham and Reece came into this world and chose the perfect parents. The love created by these two “angels of light” has been miraculous. So while much of me wants to melt into a teary ocean of primordial sadness, more of me is overwhelmed with the celebration of a hyphen– Graham’s hyphen.
So when I chose my cufflinks this morning – I chose one of a watch to signify time and the other that of a keyhole reflecting our desire to know the unknowable.
So in homage to Graham – whenever I eat a smore in the future, and I slather the toasted marshmallow and melted chocolate together on a graham cracker – I’ll smile in the memory of the most loving hyphen I have ever known.
For Graham
By Andrew Hall
January 12, 2007
I remember as a young man I began looking for answers to some of life’s more challenging questions. Why are we here? Why has this happened? Very early on, I came across a simple concept. The idea was this – we cannot control what happens in our lives, we can only control how we react to what happens. The more I searched, the more I saw that this concept was not unique, but a common thread, a theme that permeated many philosophies, religions and disciplines. Recently, I saw this principle presented in yet another way: life happens and then we create a narrative that explains what happened. Why not make up a story you like?
At times following this principle is easy. Sometimes life follows the path we had hoped for or foreseen for ourselves. But as life deviates from this path, creating a story we like can be more difficult. I cannot imagine an event more challenging than the loss of a child. I dare not imagine such an event.
When Graham passed, I found myself struggling to create such a narrative. How do I make sense of the passing of my brother’s and sister’s son? As I wrestled with the task, I found myself asking why children are so dear to us. I asked myself why it was that we as humans are so drawn to them. What makes them so precious to us? I began thinking that it is because children exist as possibility. In the beginning, parents usually make the decision to conceive children. At this point, a child is only an intention – only an idea. As an idea, the child exists only as possibility – unlimited, unrestrained, absolute possibility. But after conception and as a child grows and develops, the child becomes defined and the possibility limited. The child is a boy. The child is a girl. The child will be tall. The child will be short. The child will be intelligent. The child will be mentally impaired.
For Graham the definitions came early. Born far too early and far too small, it was clear that life would be a struggle. And a struggle it was. Graham’s spirit was strong and he fought mightily. But in the end Graham left us. The more I reflected on his passing, the more I became convinced that Graham left us by choice. Graham knew he was destined for greatness. Graham knew that he had much to accomplish in life. With so much to accomplish, Graham could not accept the limitations that were being placed upon him. He could not accept the definitions the world was assigning him. So rather than accept these limitations, Graham chose to await his next pass through our world. Graham chose to once again become an idea, to become pure possibility.
In doing so, Graham left us with an opportunity. He left us with the opportunity to choose how we remember him. He left us with the opportunity to choose how his time with us affects our lives. Graham left us the opportunity to choose how his memory will live on in our own lives. For this opportunity and for the time we were blessed to have with Graham, I am forever grateful.
