Fragile

Some weeks back, when I wrote the first post, I mentioned the fact that we are, in the end, all we have.  There is a reverence and sanctity to life, even if you do not profess a particular religious belief.  Human life is, so far as we know at this point in our existence, a unique event.  It may be that there is more life out there, but even so, our chances of finding it are small – especially given our propensity and seeming desire to kill ourselves here on this planet.

Should it never be found, though, we must come to terms with the fragility and wonder that is life.  Our planet, our resources, our relationships are all we have.  As Silver Surfer asked of the human race in the animated series, “Could it be that they have no means to leave this planet?”  Our isolation means we have to be dependent upon one another.  And it also means that life is to be venerated.    

The musician Sting wrote a song entitled “Fragile”.  In it are powerful lyrics that read as follows: “If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one/ Dying in the color of the evening sun, / Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away/ But something in our minds will always stay./  Perhaps this final act was meant/ To clinch a lifetime’s argument/ That nothing comes from violence/ and nothing ever could/ For all those born beneath an angry star/ Lest we forget how fragile we are./ On and on the rain will fall/ Like tears from a star, like tears from a star/ On and on the rain will say/ How fragile we are, how fragile we are.”

It is a song that reaches deep into my heart.  Sting sang this at a performance shortly after September 11^th at a benefit concert.  It seemed very, very appropriate.  But the song would come back to me in January of 2002 when something not as earth shattering as the terrorist attack, but just as emotionally devastating, occurred just outside my home.

On a Friday afternoon in January of 2002, a little boy next door was crossing the road to get the mail (and some say he was going to get the mail, and some say he was coming back) when he was struck by a car.  My wife and I were home, and we heard the screeching of tires, which we have heard before on that road.  It was a treacherous curve in front of our house with poor visibility from either direction.

 

We had heard the screeching of tires out there before, but on this particular afternoon, we never heard the crumpling sound of metal and plastic impacting each other.  We looked out the window to see an SUV off the road directly across from the house, but no one seemed injured.  It was then that we noticed the people running to the far corner of our yard.

Next door to us was a house that most people did not notice.  It was set back in the trees, and in many ways seemed to vanish into them.  It was at that time a home for children.  Children who otherwise would have nowhere to live, and no one to care for them.  It was this home that the boy (named Shawn, I found out later) lived.  I had probably seen Shawn before.  I had seen most of the children making their way from the bus stop at the bottom of their driveway to their house. 

But on the 25^th, I saw Shawn for what would be the last time.  His young, thin frame lay crumpled in the drainage ditch at the end of the yard, just feet from the driveway to the Children’s home.  There were people around him, talking to him and trying to ascertain the extent of his injuries.  911 was called, and we hoped for the best.  But the blood he was losing was telling us all a story we did not want to hear. 

Shawn died within half an hour of the accident. 

He was only 12 years old.

I have been around people dying, and I have been around death.  It comes with the territory.  I have seen people die from lengthy illnesses.  I have been in the room when last breaths were taken.  But this was different.  Life was ended well before it should have been.  I tried to be strong and ‘pastoral’ for the children and the families gathered there at the end of the driveway.  But I couldn’t stop tears from brimming when I heard the dispatcher announce that Shawn had died.  It was a rough day, and sleep would not come easy.

I’m not going to attach some sentimental religious moral to the story.  That seems somewhat offensive to me.  But what I do want to say is what Sting wrote.  How fragile we are.  How fragile we are.  Life is so precious, and so quickly it goes.  I find this a sobering thought.  Maybe you will, too.