Editors Note: This is an article written by Kumen (Kim) Jones. He was a colleague of mine and on December 23rd, 2015 just 19 days ago, I was speaking with him in the office about this particular piece he wrote for a 50th High School Reunion. I asked him for a copy and he promptly sent it to me. I am sharing this on my blog with his permission, given just a few weeks ago. Yesterday I attended his funeral. There is hope, faith and wisdom in his writing. I thought you might appreciate this!
Reflections on Our 50th (And Other Matters)
By Kim
Jones
While there may be some who were
disappointed with the way our 50 year reunion turned out, I am
certainly not one of them. For me it was nothing short of a smashing
success and I wish to express my sincere thanks (as I think we all
should) to those who worked so hard to make the event what it was.
It was such a thrill for me to renew
old friendships and actually establish new ones. The meet and greet
on Thursday, September 17 was a low-key, relaxed, and joyous
occasion. I was struck by just how friendly everyone was. There was
what I took to be genuine interest in what everyone had been doing in
their lives. Time and again you would hear an explosion of excitement
and laughter as one person would recognize someone they had not seen
for many years, sometimes even 50 years. As I sit writing about it
now I thrill once again at how much fun it was.
As good as the Thursday meet and greet
was, Friday evening was, in many ways, even better. The open mic
section turned out to be very entertaining and both the girls
ensemble and my little singing group were exceptional. But, once
again, it was the mingling with classmates not seen for many years
that made the event the great success that it was. Wow! What an
evening it was. Thanks again to the planning committee for all the
work you did.
The whole concept of high school
reunions and why they are so enjoyable is a mystery to me. They bring
together people who in most instances only knew one another for three
years and then see one another rarely, if at all, between reunions.
We are 68 years old. The three years we attended high school
represent only about 4.5 percent of our lives. And yet, we look
forward with great anticipation to the chance to mingle with our
classmates once again. Perhaps these reunions give us an opportunity
to revisit a simpler time in our lives. Whatever the reason, for many
of us, reunions (particularly the 50th) are wonderful occasions that
allow us to revisit our youth.
Of all the activities in the two days
of our reunion, without a doubt the most poignant for me was the
video presentation showing those of our classmates who are no longer
with us. There were so many. Personally, I found it most appropriate
that our deceased schoolmates were not shown as they were at the time
they died, but as they looked in high school, in the flower of their
youth. For me, they will never age. They are frozen in their youth,
young and alive. That is certainly how I would like to remember them.
As we watched the show, I looked at
those around me and reflected on the changes the last 50 years have
brought to us. Some of us have changed a great deal and some of us
hardly at all. But whatever else, I was struck by the thought that
all of us have fewer days in front of us in mortality than we do
behind us.
One of the reasons the video
presentation had such a sobering impact on me was that earlier in the
day I had met with my doctor who had informed me that my leukemia had
returned and this time it was almost certainly going to take my life.
I was originally diagnosed with Acute
Myeloid Leukemia in December of 2013. It was really a surreal
experience for me. For reasons that I cannot really explain, I never
really grasped the seriousness of my situation. It was almost like I
had a bad cold. It never occurred to me that I wouldn't get better.
And I did. It was a fairly lengthy process, but in May of 2014 my
leukemia was pronounced to be in remission. I was told, of course,
that there was a possibility, even a probability that my cancer would
someday return. Someday.
Well now, that someday has arrived, and
I was informed of it on the afternoon of September 17, 2015, about
two hours before the start of the meet and greet portion of our 50
year reunion. I resolved in my own mind that I would not think about
it or talk about it at the reunion. Then, one of the first things we
did at the meet and greet was watch the video presentation I
mentioned above. Anyway, for what seem to me to be fairly obvious
reasons, the subjects of death and dying have been much on my mind of
late. Within a very short time (certainly less than a year), I
suspect you will learn that Kim Jones has joined the ranks of our
classmates who have died. But, before I go, I want to share some of
my thoughts with you on the subject of the process I am going
through. "What", you may ask, "has Kim Jones' death
got to do with me"? Well, I'll tell you.
As many of you know, I spent much of my
professional career as a faculty member at Arizona State University.
From time to time (actually quite often) students would come to my
office to complain about something they didn't like about my
performance as their teacher. When they did, I would simply turn and
point to a plaque hanging on the wall behind me.
It read:
Life is tough!
Three out of three people die!
Shut up and deal!
At which point they would leave,
realizing I was not going to do whatever it was they wanted me to do.
The part of my little plaque I wish to
focus on is the middle line: Three out of three people die. It's a
simple enough concept in the abstract. Each of us knows that death
will eventually come to us. There are no exceptions. You and I are
going to die. Most of us do not know when it will happen, so we just
sort of ignore it. In my case, I have now been forced to confront it.
And while I would not describe what I feel about it is fear, I freely
admit to being somewhat apprehensive about dying.
I don't know whether it is still there,
but when I was a little boy there was a giant slide smack in the
middle of the big swimming pool at Lagoon. I don't know how big that
slide was, but to a little boy it seemed to be at least 100 feet
high. I remember when I was about six years old I decided I was going
to go down that giant slide. For kids from my neighborhood, sliding
down that slide was a rite of passage to manhood. But make no mistake
about it, I was petrified at the prospect of climbing that 100 foot
ladder and sliding down that slide.
After what seemed to be an eternity,
and enduring an enormous amount of ridicule from my older brothers
and other older kids from my neighborhood, I finally mustered the
courage to begin climbing that ladder. All the way up I kept telling
myself that I was not afraid and that going down the giant slide was
not going to be any harder than going down the slides that were in
Liberty Park.
After what seemed to be hours of
climbing, I arrived at the little platform at the top of the ladder.
So, there I was, on the platform 100 feet in the air and I was scared
to death. I sat down on the platform and inched my way forward until
I could look down the slide. When I was close enough to look down the
slide, I nearly passed out. Now the slide looked like it was 1,000
feet long and it was nearly a vertical drop. Without hesitation, I
said to myself, "I can't do this. I want to go back." So, I
turned around, and there were at least 10,000 kids on the ladder.
There was simply no way I could go back.
I sat down on the little platform and
began to cry. All the kids on the ladder began to shout at me to get
moving. I was paralyzed with fear. However, I eventually started to
inch myself forward to the edge of the platform. Incidentally, this
was when I learned it is possible to walk on your butt cheeks.
Anyway, when I got to the edge, I just sat there, looking 1,000 feet
down the slide. I honestly don't know whether I made the final move
by myself or whether the kid behind me pushed me, but somehow I went
down the slide, and I must say, IT WAS SPECTACULAR!!! I don't think I
have ever experienced anything as exhilarating as sliding down that
slide. When I got to the bottom, I turned and looked back up at the
top. I asked myself, "What was I afraid of?"
Well, I am sitting on that little
platform again, except the slide I'm about to go down is death. And I
don't mind telling you that in some ways I am that little boy again,
sitting on the platform saying, "I can't do this. I want to go
back." There is, of course, no going back. And remember this:
Three out of three people die. Even if I were somehow able to dodge
this bullet, there would of necessity be another bullet waiting down
the road.
Regarding what happens at the
conclusion of our mortal life, there are I think, three beliefs.
First there are those of us who are certain there is a life after
death. We may not agree as to what happens there, but we do believe
fervently that life after death exists. Then there is a second group
of us who just don't know. Maybe something comes after death and
maybe there is no life after death. We just don't know. Then there is
the final group, made up of those of us who are absolutely sure there
is nothing after we die. These people are certain that at the moment
of death, everything about us ceases to exist.
The point I would make to you who are
reading this little treatise is that you can and should face the
prospect of your own death with dignity and grace irrespective of
which of these three groups you belong to. I guess what I am saying
is that we should embrace our own mortality and live our lives to the
fullest.
And so, I've come to end of my life. I
wish I could adequately express to you all how much your friendship
has meant to me. Not just because you have been such good friends,
but because my association with you (even if it was just during those
three short years of high school) has helped shaped who and what I
have become. I will miss you all more than you can know. And when you
hear the news that Kim Jones has died, please remember that while I
was at least a little apprehensive, I faced the moment of my death
without any real fear.
Vaya Con Dios, my friends.
Kim Jones
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