Living Mindfully Each Day (By Chris Hwang)

      Six days ago, young Tommy Bock of Wallkill Valley was living a typical teenage life similar to the rest of us. He would hang out with friends, go to the movies, play sports, and partake in activities common to all teenagers. What Tommy didn’t know was that Sunday morning would be his last day. The news of his untimely and tragic death sent shockwaves through our entire community. In the hours and days immediately following Tommy’s death, we paid homage to him on Instagram and many of us even donated money to help his parents defray funeral costs. The outpouring of love and sympathy was infinite and innumerable. In fact, Tommy’s Instagram followers increased exponentially. Tommy had a message to send to us but unfortunately, he did so posthumously.

            As young energetic teenagers, we have only completed one decade of life. Most of us don’t fully comprehend the concept of death or truly understand the fragility of life. Because of our youth, we perceive ourselves as invincible. We heal quickly, our scars disappear in days rather than weeks, we get by on four hours of sleep, and we neglect exhaustion. Simply put, many of us are wired at our age to celebrate a fast-paced life where consequences are always an afterthought rather than a guard. Tommy was a wrestler just like myself. In fact, he was my age and wrestled the same weight. I met Tommy and I engaged in friendly dialogue with him at our District championship tournament just a few short weeks ago. Thus, the news of his untimely death really hit home. Unfortunately, it took a tragic death like his to remind me of how precious and valuable life is. In addition, his death also triggered an inner conflict within myself.

            We are often told by our elders and our loved ones to “live life to its fullest” and to “enjoy each day like it’s your last.” Well Tommy did just that and it cost him his life. The old adage tells us to maximize our potential and enjoy life. In fact, the old adage as interpreted by many teenagers inadvertently downplays the risks associated with living a fast-paced life full of enjoyment and gratification. And that is the heart of my dilemma. Although Tommy’s death was tragic, it didn’t have to happen. Tommy died of extensive trauma to his head as a result of a skateboarding accident. So the old adage holds true:  he enjoyed life. However, that enjoyment hastened his time with us. So in recent days, I’ve been struggling to understand how I ought to strike that proper balance between enjoying life and taking risks to enjoy this life. There is no right or wrong answer and perhaps my entry into adulthood will provide me with an opportunity to hone and refine that balance and understand the proper boundaries for “living” a fruitful, responsible, yet satisfying life.

            Despite my confusion and internal conflict, Tommy’s death did remind me to appreciate all that I have and everything that surrounds me. Life is fleeting, full of mystery, and yes, life can be short. In the days ahead, I will be certain to smile vs. frown, to forgive vs. to hold a grudge, and to hug vs. hate.  Although it is true that Tommy died while partaking in an activity that he loved, the risk unfortunately placed him in harms way. It hurts to know that his parents will never have another chance to hold him tight and tell him that everything’s going to be fine and to see him succeed as an adult but it also helps to know that heaven gained an angel. Rest in peace Tommy.

              

           

When Does a Person Truly Die? (By Eve Curras)

I am the absolute worst 
at comforting people.  I 

remember once my friend was having a panic attack.  Her head was between her knees and she clutched her heart as she desperately attempted to catch her breath.  I was completely out of my element.  Not knowing what to do or how I could help, I patted her back awkwardly for several minutes.  I didn't truly know why I believed patting her back would somehow help-- I just thought that's what people normally do in those type of situations.  My attempts at comforting her didn't seem to be helpful in the slightest, so I proceed to stare at her until she calmed down.  She turned to me, her face flushed and contorted with tears, "what are you doing?"  she asked me.  

     "Umm..."  I was in a compromising position.  She was still visibly upset and I didn't feel it would be appropriate at that point in time to explain to her that this whole "people thing" didn't always come naturally to me.  "I was... trying to help?"

     "Well, stop staring at me like that," she said, her face still wet with tears.  I have been in many other similar situations.  I remember long ago a different friend of mine was crying because her brother had put her in a choke hold.  I was younger and less mature then but as she clutched her neck, sobbing on the floor, I started laughing!  This isn't to say that I'm some sort of sociopathic robot, but in any situation that involves tears I am completely ineffective.  

     This brings me to my real story.  I was faced once again with my achilles heel of situations, another crying friend.  Her father's best friend had just recently died and she tearfully explained to me that she felt her father had become closed-off and depressed.  Despite my empathetic nature, my stoic stare was present as always.  I couldn't think of the right thing to say, knowing fully well that sometimes there never is.  Luckily, a friend of mine who can actually process human emotion sat with us.  His face was kind and laced with a sympathetic smile as he diligently listened to everything she said.  "Let me tell you something,"  he said to her calmly.  She wiped the tears from underneath her eyes.  "There's an old saying.  I can't remember who said it, but it was along the lines of:

     They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.

     All you can do to honor the death of your father's best friend is never forget his memory.  Hold it close to your heart and never let him die that second death."

     I was astounded by the complexity and beauty of what he said.  I later looked into the quote and discovered it was said by a famous street artist from England by the name of Banksy.  The name was very familiar and it was then I remembered watching a documentary about Banksy with my parents when I was much younger called "Exit Through the Gift Shop."  I found myself spending a great deal of time analyzing this quote and how true it was.  There will come a point in time where all of us will be dead.  It is a scary thought but true nonetheless.  Unless you possess what society deems as a great significance, your name will be forgotten just as millions of others have.  Shakespeare, Martin Luther King Jr., Albert Einstein, Napoleon, and so many other icons have died yet still live on in the minds of the living.  To me, it was an amazing concept, realizing that some people were immortal. 

     My grandfather died last year.  It was a shock to my entire family and very sudden.  I can still remember every single detail of that day, the day my father came home and he told my brother and me.  Up until then, I had never had a reason to despise death.  Death was such a foreign feeling to me, and flying to Puerto Rico for my grandfather's funeral and looking at his chair- realizing I would never see him sit in it again, terrified me.  I hold this saying close to my heart because I'm scared to do anything less than that.  I know that someday my grandfather will be forgotten, when my family has passed and my children and grandchildren have.  We will all simply become specks on a family tree, but somehow I find that comforting.  It makes life easier, to realize that someday, I too will be forgotten.  It makes me appreciate how short our time on this earth is and realize how important it is to live a life for yourself and those that love you.  I know I'll never again get to see my grandfather sitting in his brown, rugged chair in the living room, where the sun shone brightly through the glass door panels and the gentle, comforting sound of the air conditioner filled the room with a soothing hum.  My grandfather may have died his first life, but so long as I am alive, I will never let him die the second.