Stay Gold, George.

Isaiah helped me edit this picture. He said, "Add a happy face because I can tell he made people smile."

Seize upon that moment long ago

One breath away and there you will be

So young and carefree

Again you will see

That place in time. . . .so gold

Steal away into that way back when

You thought that all would last forever

But like the weather

Nothing can ever. . . and be in time

Stay gold

But can it be?

When we can see

So vividly

A memory

And yes you say

So must the day

Too, fade away

And leave a ray of sun

So gold

Life is but a twinkling of an eye

Yet filled with sorrow and compassion

Though not imagined

All things that happen

Will age to old

Though gold

~ Stevie Wonder

_____________________________

I listened to this song tonight and quietly wept. Especially the stanza that says:

Life is but a twinkling of an eye
Yet filled with sorrow and compassion
Though not imagined
All things that happen
Will age to old
Though gold


Life truly is just that. But a twinkling of an eye. Today I sat on a hard pew in a church. Along with throngs of colleagues, medical students, residents and others, we paid respect to a dear colleague--a golden colleague--who, unfortunately, left us long before his golden years.

Yep.

A team on call couldn't get their attending on the phone. An attending physician who took great pride in caring for his patients at Grady Hospital and who would never leave them high and dry without some good explanation.

When Deanna didn't pick up our kids from after school care on November 15, 2012, I remember uttering aloud to Harry over the phone: "Over her dead body would she leave those kids without calling us." Well. Unfortunately, this was a nearly identical situation. Over his dead body would he leave those patients at Grady.

Sigh.

He was young. Presumably healthy. Cherished by many. And now, in the twinkling of an eye, he has made his transition. Some kind of natural cause, although the timing seems horrifically unnatural. This wasn't supposed to be what I was doing today. No, it was not.

Last week I sat in a meeting with him. Last Thursday evening to be exact. We were about to start a project together with a group of others. The meeting was going over and I whispered to him that I needed to get my kids. He calmly said, "Don't stress it, Kim. You should go to your children. I'll fill you in on the details later."

And you know what? He did.

I guess you'd think that something like this--a young colleague in his 40's having some kind of sudden death after what seemed like an ordinary day--would take me to a dark place. Or at least rip the scab off of my own wound. Particularly since the last time most of my colleagues saw him in the hospital was on November 15--coincidentally the day we said good bye to Deanna. But you know what? It didn't. It broke my heart, yes. But somehow I felt my heels digging down into the ground of my life and the people in it. Reminded, yet again, of that truth Stevie Wonder sings of so hauntingly:

Life is but a twinkling of an eye.

My colleague, George? He lived life like it was golden. He did things with zeal, marched to his own drum, and didn't waste a lot of time worrying about what everyone else thought. He was a dedicated teacher, mentor and friend. A Grady doctor through and through and also a small group advisor who will be survived by four doting small groups of former and current medical students--all broken hearted and reeling from this tragic loss.

But.

Life is but a twinkling of an eye. And somehow George must have known that, too. He left it all on the field. And man. You should have heard the words spoken about him today. I heard someone wise once say, "The value of a man's life is measured in how much of it he gives away." Listening to his family, students and colleagues talking about him today was a clear affirmation of how rich of a life he lived.

I hated seeing his small group students crying. I just hated that part. It also hurt to hear the restrained pain that kept eking out between the words his young niece spoke on behalf of their family. That part felt like deja vu.

Anyways.

Here is yet another charge to us all to live life like it's golden. To love like you mean it. To try the things that seem out of your reach. And to be as intentional as possible. And to not bog yourself down in what other people might think. My friend George did all of these things.

This evening I was running in silence (and actually darkness.) I love stillness like that because in it I can hear and see things that normally I'd miss. This time, I could hear George with his silky accent saying something wise about all that transpired today. Shrugging and saying in his relaxed way,"You know, Kim? Here's the thing: Death brings life. Like, a seed is planted and grows. But only after it has fallen from the tree. You know?" And I smiled and even laughed while I was running because this is the kind of thing that he'd totally say. Something deep, cryptic and Yoda-ish like that-- and words that would make you think for a moment and then say, "Aaaaaaah" -- like 45 minutes later. Ha.

That was George.

He wasn't a father or a husband and his parents preceded him in death. That said, he was a true family man. A doting uncle and so open and giving to all of us. He understood the importance of family and I know that first hand. He always, always helped me out when I asked for a colleague to cover me or when I needed to get out early to get to my children. "That's important, Kim," he'd say. "Go ahead. Get to Isaiah and Zachary." He'd call them by name, too. Funny how the little things become the big things, right?

Sigh.

Again. . .life is but a twinkling of an eye. Tonight I'm reflecting on those words and the life of my colleague and friend, George Mathew. And feeling glad that I had the chance to know him.

And yes you say

So must the day

Too,  fade away

And leave a ray of sun

So gold

***
Stay gold, Georgie.

Now playing on mental iPod. . .and on my real one tonight. . . Stevie singing "Stay Gold." When I see a ray of sun, I will think of you, George.