Rememberance

There is a time for beginnings, and for endings, and for things that are neverending. Two years ago, a story began, somewhat like a Quentin Tarantino movie, with an ending of sorts. A story of how a brave young man, a mere 16-odd years of age, triumphed over the sort of pain, hardship and tribulation that no teenager ought to experience, and no parent should ever see their children endure. Death for this much beloved individual, it seems, closes one door but opens a thousand others. It's like the beginning of a legend, a rich vibrant life extinguished so long before its prime, yet inspiring multitudes to their own betterment. Think James Dean. River Phoenix. Jeff Buckley. Comparisons likely to raise the ire of the detached, yet, if one were to be a 16 year old watching a respected, treasured peer crushed by the ravages of terminal illness but lacking none of the vibrancy, energy and vigour of youth, they would seem appropriate, even natural. Here is a boy, a man, literally knocking on heaven's door, with a passion for life that burns so fiercely as to, mind my impropriety, put the flames of hell to shame. Who, even two years after journeying beyond the physical, still brings out the best in those whose lives he touched, however brief, however passing.

To this I say, let the end begin. Because if in knowing one's demise is at hand moves us to live better, laugh louder and love harder, why, hand me the bucket, clean up the farm and let the good times (and the credits) roll.

Dedicated to Jon. Gone (is he really?) but never forgotten.