Dear Readers
I originally published this tribute on May 6 in the immediate aftermath of Tim’s death. I am reprising it today in light of his funeral, which will be held tomorrow in Providenciales, Turks and Caicos Islands.
I appreciate your understanding.
ALH
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It is axiomatic that parents should not have to bury their children. But too often tragedy upsets the natural order of things.
This is why my family often marveled at how truly blessed we were that our parents never suffered the unspeakable sorrow of having any of their children die before them. After all, there being 17 of us, the chance of this tragedy befalling them was far greater than it was for other parents in the Turks and Caicos Islands (TCI) – who had an average of only 1.96 children.
What are we to make, then, of the fate that saw this tragedy pass over my parents only to befall one of us – now that we are parents too?
It happened early on Friday to my sister Esther. That’s when doctors at the Miami Jackson Memorial Hospital pronounced her son Tim dead after 13 hours of surgery. He had been airlifted from his home in the TCI a week earlier after being struck out of the blue with something called an aortic dissection. He was only 35.
We are a very religious family; therefore, I could say that we were prepared for this tragic outcome because that proverbial canard, “God works in mysterious ways,” is supposed to explain everything that makes no friggin’ sense.
But the truth is, we were prepared because, despite her understandable worries, Tim’s sister Tammy, a medical doctor herself, gave us a clinical explanation of the daunting challenges, as well as a professional assessment of the grave odds, he faced.
Still, there’s no explaining the cruel juxtaposition of our family gathering just weeks ago to celebrate my niece’s wedding, with the gathering now being planned for my nephew’s funeral. And it isn’t just that his death was so sudden. It’s that a lot of the banter at that wedding was about the great example Tim was setting as the first born of the next generation of our family.
To get just a sense of why this was so, consider that he was happily married to his lovely and devoted wife Tamarra; he had a beautiful and healthy daughter; his business was thriving; and his dream house was in the final phase of completion. Not to mention having in Tammy, Ethan, and Tivaar younger siblings who loved him as a brother as much as they cherished him as a friend.
In fact, by all accounts, Tim seemed almost as happy as the bride at that family wedding two weeks ago. He clearly had so much to live for.
So how can we not wonder … why? Notwithstanding that religion would have us believe that ours is not to reason why; ours is just to live and (let) die.
Apropos of which, though spiritual, I am easily the least religious person in my family. Accordingly, that I’m finding more solace in the words of metaphysical poets than in those of the Almighty God will surprise none of them.
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think’st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee…
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
(John Donne)
And so Tim is having his short sleep, before he wakes eternally….
I can personally attest to the, well, metaphysical bond that exists between a mother and her son. And that bond must be doubly so when that mother is forced to be father as well – as Esther was with Tim practically from the day he was born.
So just imagine her grief – especially given my tease above about the impressive man (husband and father) he grew up to be. He was a monumental testament to Esther’s accomplishments as caregiver and provider for her children: what mother would not be simply inconsolable at such a loss…?
Yet, it speaks volumes about her character that Esther is doing more in this hour of bereavement to console us than we are to console her. I can only hope that, in her moments of solitude, she finds Biblical words that comfort and strengthen her as much as poetic words comfort and strengthen me.
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea…
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
(Lord Tennyson)
Farewell, Tim.