April 1, 2024
Greetings from the recipient,
One of my oldest friends sent me a picture of his brother. It’s an ordinary thing, something so common and simple to do that it might not be worth mentioning. But it mattered for a myriad of reasons.
It mattered first because his brother had just passed away, and so this little intimate reminder of the living man was deeply moving. I felt my friend’s grief, felt the echo of it in me. I also felt grateful that I was included in the family of people who mourn George.
The second reason it mattered, and the reason Tom sent me the picture of his brother, was because it was his favorite picture of George. “He looked so happy,” he said. That was my immediate thought when I saw it.
My connection with George was assembled from diverse directions. The largest source was that we worked together for a few decades. I’m smiling, considering how rare it is to be able to say a sentence like that. I’ll add that it is also rare to have been friends with someone for that long, because of, and in spite of, working together six days a week for a generation or so.
George was methodical, logical, disciplined, and highly intelligent. He had a sharp mind, a startling recall, and the ability to do complex math in his head. The casual observer might draw comparisons to Spock. The Vulcan, not the pediatrician. It’s not a fair impression, he was by far more dimensional than the Star Trek character, but you get the idea.
George was older than me, with a firm toehold in adulthood when we met, fortified by maturity, experience, a powerful faith, and an encyclopedic knowledge of sports. He played bridge, bought life insurance, sang in the choir, all grown-up stuff. These strengths were astonishing to me at the time, for they cast a neat shadow that fit against the edge of my own deficiencies.
Not long after I met George, now more than forty-three years ago, he asked me if I would be interested in running the Crim, a ten-mile race that’s held where I live. At the time, I was what you probably would have described as a poor candidate for such endeavors. I won’t elaborate here, since this isn’t about me, yet. But trust me, some major changes were required to approach the challenge.
George introduced me to his group of running friends, and in a short time I realized that there was a world of experiences I had been missing out on. I was adopted into the tribe, and before long I was training with them several times a week. I was looped into the circuit of races that seemed to take place every week, and with that came the work and the celebration on either side of every event. Running became a lifestyle.
And so, George and I ran our first Crim together. I can’t recreate every mile but we stayed close, weaving through the crowd, waving at friends cheering us on. I remember that he finished just ahead of me, which he occasionally mentioned over the next couple of decades. Like whenever it was daylight.
That race, and all of the things that surrounded it, added a dimension to my life that I would never have considered if I hadn’t known George. It altered my direction, just enough, so that I could see other possibilities. And that is really just the tip of what I want to tell you.
For the last four decades, I have been a runner. It has led me to astonishing adventures, travels to new places, challenges that helped shape me. Running has instilled in me a passion, not just for pushing my physical self, but exploring my spiritual self. All of the racing, including forty-two Crims, and marathons all over the country, pale in comparison to the countless miles I’ve run, at home and in every place I have ever visited, all around the world.
I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that I would not have had those experiences if I had not been introduced to them by my friend George. He took a moment to dip his hand into the river that was my life, and divert just a trickle, and the result created streams that fed into places I’d never dreamed of.
George was kind, generous in ways that most of the world will never know. He paused in his orderly life to pay attention to others, and to offer help in meaningful ways. I was witness to that, sometimes the focus of that. He offered me counsel and an example to emulate. Running was not the only instance, but it serves as an excellent symbol.
Through his friendship, George shared a great many gifts, including this running path. The gift inside this gift is to be shown that often we matter to people in ways we shouldn’t underestimate.
The picture of George that Tom sent to me showed him running the Crim race, probably the very first one for both of us. George is happy, not the only place he ever was, but it was a good one to remember. At the edge of the picture is a much younger version of me, looking a little dazed, a little uncertain, but heading down a much better road than I had been.
Thanks George.
Hope this finds you remembering who sent you,
David
Copyright © 2024 David Smith
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