I friend of mine just gave birth this week. Another friend of mine killed himself this weekend.
Last Wednesday, he was sitting in a meeting describing how doctors had just saved his life. He had had a heart attack and didn’t know it. The doctors did. They cut his clothes, cut his leg, inserted tubes and told him to shut up and lie still.
Less than a week after doctors saved his life, he took it. He was a father, he was in his forties and he spent most of his adult life in prison. The man I met, after his release, was a frightened, scared and lonely child. I would imagine, he wasn’t much older, in terms of maturity, than when he went in; a man on the outside covered in tattoos, a child on the inside cloaked in hurt. This man was identical to me, in all ways except appearance.
This week, a new life came into this world as one went out. The irony does not escape me, nor does the pain, the innocence or the significance of each.
What I am witnessing is the cycle. This cycle has existed for centuries. And it’s this same cycle I thought I was immune to. It is the cycle of life and as it exists for others, it exists for me.
*Congratulations, Kerri! Rest easy, Carl. Thank you both for showing this to me.*
