I rise in the courthouse, as Scout was beckoned to do, for the passing of a great man.
The windows in the studio are open this morning, which is unheard of in August, to a freshening breeze.
Late last night, in a quieted hospital corridor, surrounded by a solidly forged family of supporters, we enveloped two young men as they took what is called the Walk of Life.
A powerful and deeply moving ceremony where that little box we check on our driver’s license becomes very very real.
One life is traded for many.
I seem to throw the word around a lot but I truly have never witnessed such grace.
And it wasn’t in the overwhelming handing over of the gift, the youthful organs to be shared, it was in the brilliant beacon of love that radiated between Matt and his husband on the gurney… Paul.
In crowded ICU waiting rooms and peaceful wooded pathways, we have listened to a bucket full of stories about how that love has enveloped, emboldened and lifted so many others and I’d honestly be crumpled on my knees in the telling of it …if it didn’t require both of them to lift me back up.
But I want to talk here, at least this morning, about Mentors.
Almost all of the people we have been glued to in the last four days we had never met…in person. But we knew them.
Because they were important to Matt and Paul who were important to us.
They were stories and pictures on our phones and of course the wall of covid set all those “we’ve got to get you together” meetings off. We made up for all that lost time in no time. One of the most surreal experiences in my life came yesterday, when after days of trying to keep our voices down and our distances apart in heavily masked hallways we all somehow knew to make our way to the ridge and for the first time I got to meet their smiles.
In his house, with his beloved Bernese Mt Dogs leaning, the vigil was kept.
Paul is an artist. And as we, the collected mourners, moved through the day waiting for the call to come back to the hospital, our rolling conversations explored the connections between us all. They told me Paul had introduced me as one of his Mentors. He and I talked a lot about that. But I think it was the other way around. Or maybe mutual.
What I knew of Paul’s dreams to be a full time artist came alive in the voices of his friends and their stories of how proud they were of his working so hard to achieve that dream. And he did. It hurts too much to think about how few days he got to spend in that new studio but I heard story after story about how fiercely he created in there.
We have all had Mentors in our lives. Wouldn’t have made it this far without them. But being a Mentor, it feels like a huge responsibility. I honestly didn’t feel worthy and was reluctant to embrace the roll with anyone else’s creative soul at stake. Sort of coming at it from the side with my shoulders tucked and head down. But Paul persisted. He, the professor, said Teach Me.
While I was taking baby steps along that journey, Paul was striding far ahead. Listening to his friends these last few days I’ve come to see that his truest creative gifts may have been the kindness, generosity, steady support, tremendous capacity for laughter and the forgiveness he bear-hugged into their lives.
No superlatives here could measure up to the power of his relentless choices to love.
I’m sitting here shaking as I try to fill in for you the layers of evidence I have for that statement and my heart just won’t let them go down to my fingers yet. So trust me, Paul gave his heart out.
And Matt, dear sweet soul, kept that heart safe.
What Paul was eager to learn about art, I needed to learn about love.
Matt and Paul together were a Masterclass. Full stop.
So, on this blessedly fine morning I just want to say thank you to my friend and mentor, for giving me the opportunity to help carry your paintings.
And Paul…
he just insisted that I include this shot of his fine…
damnit Paul.
