The specter of death seems to be hovering around my small town in recent days. A young man from my hometown was killed in Iraq. A local teacher was diagnosed with the worst form of prostate cancer. My brother’s father-in-law has regressed and is in advanced stages of cancer.

These three lives span generations. Bryan Quinton was 24 years old when he died in Iraq a couple of days ago. He was killed by a bomb in a place where such bombings are commonplace. Just last week he had called his local church on Sunday and spoke to the entire congregation using a loudspeaker. Twenty four years old with a full life ahead of him. When I was Bryan Quinton’s age I was just starting my professional life, just beginning the path my adult life would take me. He’ll never have that chance. He grew up right here where I did. He probably played in the same parks, ate in the same restaurants, hung out in many of the same places. He was probably thinking of coming home, perhaps starting a family, finding his path in life.

Steve is a teacher at the local junior high school. He is 52 years old, grew up in this small town, and came back home to be a teacher and coach. I remember watching him play basketball for the high school team when I was in elementary school. He has been teaching here for 25 years now, an excellent teacher and role model for kids. His parents owned the local ice plant and have deep roots in this community. The word from his mother is that he may have a year left to live. At the age when he could begin thinking about his retirement years he faces a probable losing fight for his life.

My brother’s father-in-law in a gentleman in his 70’s, retired, active in politics and in supporting a local university. Handsome and distinguished, he has been enjoying his grandchildren. Now he struggles with simple tasks and his time appears to be short. Cancer is an equal opportunity killer and it is devastating this man. I know what my sister-in-law and her family are facing and it makes me very sad. Of course he has lived a very rich life, but there is so much more to do.

I know that people die everyday and that this week is probably not all that different from others. I pick up the paper and read that someone died in a car wreck. I don’t recognize the names and I move on to the other news. I scan the obituaries, noting that someone I don’t know lost a long battle with cancer. Soldiers seem to dying in Iraq every time I tune in the news. It is different when you know them or know of them. Over 6500 people die in this nation alone every single day. Just think about it. In this nation alone there are thousands of people alive tonight who won’t be tomorrow night.

You or I might even be among them. We have no way to know when our time is up here. Some people close to me are fighting dreaded diseases and I marvel at their courage. For others we just never know. I didn’t know three months ago that my father only had precious weeks left to live. This life is like a candle flame. We can burn it all the way to the very end or something may come along to blow it out.

I can tell you this. Some candles burn brighter than others, and these three men have burned very brightly in their lives. All three have lived a life of service to others and have left marks that will not be erased. That is the lesson, isn’t it? I drive past an old cemetery every day on the way to work. As I see the tombstones lined up so neatly, I wonder about who they were. They lived lives just like we do. Did they make their mark? Did they really ever truly love someone? Did they live a life of joy or did they get caught up in the bullshit that so many of us do? Did they take risks or were they content to just muddle along? Did they ever feel love’s warm embrace or were they just too caught up in themselves to know it when they saw it?

In the movie “Dead Poets Society” Robin Williams gathered his young charges at the display case, looking at old photos of classes from long ago. He asked his students some of those same questions about the faces in that case. They were young and full of hope in those yellowed pictures. Did they realize the promise of their youth? Then Williams told the boys, “Carpe diem. Seize the day lads. Gather ye rosebud while ye may.”

I’ve got a lot more rosebud to gather. So did the three men I just wrote about. Bryan never got another just to gather any. The other two may have a little more time. We all start dying the day we are born. It is part of life, as natural as losing our baby teeth. The only option is what to do with the short time we are given.

Pardon me. I have some rosebud that really needs gathering.

Carpe diem my friends.
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