What was the world coming to and what hearty pleasures folks today missed out of life! One bag of meal her pap said, used to make a whole family rejoice. Now folks came ungrateful from the store, grumbling they had to carry such a heavy market basket. Was that the way this great new country of hers was going to go? The easier they made life, the weaker and sicker the race had to get? Once a majority of the men got weak and soft, what weak, harmful ways would they vote the country into then? Well, her pap’s generation could get down on their knees and thank the Almighty they lived and died when they did. How would they ever have come and settled this wild country if they said to each other, “Ain’t you afeard?” How would her pappy have fetched them the long way out here on foot if he’d kept asking all the time, “Are ye all right? How do ye feel? Do ye reckon ye kin make it?” No, those old time folks she knew were scared of nothing, or if they were, they didn’t say so. They knew they ran bad risks moving into Indian country, but they had to die some time. They might as well live as they pleased and let others bury them when the time came.
—from The Town by Conrad Richter
This past weekend couldn’t dovetail more aptly with my previous musings on the parallel lines of sweetness and sorrow: the joy of hugging and laughing with Seitz Family loved ones mixed with the ache of seeing Kelly off to his final rest. I’ve never had a big brother. Wayne came the closest. If we had lived in proximity, Kelly might have filled that void in many ways, but now he’s gone, too. Susan’s choice of a strong set of funeral readings moved my spirit. The sadness was balanced with the opportunity for Mombo to see former friends from Tipp City: Jane, Flo, and Mary Jo, and I was able to kiss the cheeks of Angela, Lynnette, and Jenny, while meeting the eyes of Karen for the first time in 35 years. The bitter with the delicious—this seems to be the taste of things for me. Thus it probably always has been, but now I recognize and accept it.
Alyx joyfully announced her engagement, while grieving families in Colorado sorted out the tragic aftermath of a rancid nut-job’s evil handiwork. It’s hard not to wonder what our society is coming to when things like this happen, but how do such dangers compare to the daily risks our ancestors faced with no loss of determination? And if the frontier rangers had caught a murderer, rapist, or horse thief, the misfit would have swung from a noose in short order, without a thought wasted on his psychological deficit or woeful childhood. Perhaps we shall eventually see a would-be exponent of such premeditation swiftly and lawfully cut down by a “citizen sheepdog” who just happened to be carrying his weapon in circumstances one would think it unnecessary to do so.
Dana and I watched The Iron Lady last night, and we found too many flaws in the motion picture to recommend it, but I must say it caused me to remember Thatcher’s firm resolve in crisis. There are many kinds of fear. They must all be cast out—whether by righteous indignation or by perfect love. Throughout a life now cut short, I’m certain that Kelly was afraid at times, but I have always thought of him as one of the most fearless men I have known. Whether it was having the courage to marry young and to bear whatever stigma the world would throw upon his path, or to take on the high-pressure world of corporate sales, or live his convictions as an example to his family … or to bravely face a diagnosis that would suck the hope from someone who didn’t know what he believed. It never seemed written for the two of us to go beyond a periodic big smile and strong handshake. Nevertheless, he always set a fine example from a distance. And, for me, I expect that will continue to be the case.
