Snow Pictures

by Kevin Deeny

  Rosalind’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a muscular pick-up truck entering the driveway. She watched as a young man got out of the driver’s side and helped a young woman with her leg in a cast. He reached into the truck bed and retrieved crutches for her and then went back into the cab for a coat that Rosalind recognized. She stood as they approached the porch and she stepped down to great them.

  Julie was crying as she haltingly walked with her crutches “Dr. Kenrick?” she asked between sobs. Rosalind stepped forward and embraced her, holding her tight as she sobbed. “It’s ok Julie,” Rosalind whispered as she held her and patted her back. “Please come inside where it’s warm, and please call me Rosalind. Can you do the steps?” she asked.

  They carefully made their way up the porch steps and into the kitchen where they all sat around the kitchen table. Rosalind asked, “Are you coffee drinkers? I just made a fresh pot.” They both nodded, and Rosalind reached to the cupboard for two cups and set them on the table along with the carafe of coffee. “Please help yourselves.”

  As Julie’s husband poured coffee for them both, Julie reached over to retrieve the coat he had been carrying. “Your husband wrapped me in his coat to keep me warm after the accident. I had it cleaned and wanted to get it back to you. I know it’s a small thing, I just didn’t know what else I could do.”

  Julie began to cry again, and Rosalind turned to her husband and said “I am glad that Julie seems to be recovering well and I was sorry to hear about your Camaro. Marcus was a bit of a motorhead and loved vintage cars too. I’ll tell you what Steven, why don’t you check out the cars in the barn. It will give me a few minutes to talk to your wife. It should be unlocked.”

  Steven smiled as he rose from the table and said ‘Great” as he stepped toward the porch door. Julie was looking at her with a funny expression and said “Your husband did that too. He knew my name just as you know Steven’s name.”

  Rosalind chuckled and said “That just dawned on me too. I suspect Marcus has something to do with it. Let me put your mind at ease and tell you a little about my husband.”

  It helped Rosalind to talk about Marcus. Julie was the last person that Marcus was able to help, and she found it comforting for her to be able to tell Julie about the life of the man who helped save her life. In the end, they were both crying and holding hands when Steven came back into the kitchen. They dried their eyes and Julie reached for a helping hand from Steven as she stood.

  “We’ve taken too much of your time, and we should go. Thank you for your kindness. I’ll never be able to thank your husband, but I want at least to thank you.”

  Rosalind came out to the porch as they left and waved as they backed out of the driveway. She was alone again with her thoughts but felt buoyed by the discussion with Julie. Rosalind was moved by her humility and compassion; characteristics she admired. “Is it possible that Marcus met her for a reason?” she thought to herself and then shook her head as she laughed. “I’m beginning to think like him now.”

  Visitors began arriving in the afternoon, and Robert and Alecia were among the first. Rosalind greeted them on the porch. They were family to Rosalind and Marcus and had spent unlimited time with her after learning of Marcus’ death. Marcus had given them a chance to change the direction of their lives, and they took it and never looked back. When Robert tracked Marcus down to thank him and to understand more fully what went on that day in the alley, it kindled a friendship that lasted the rest of their lives. Marcus and Robert became like brothers, and it was rare to see them apart.

  Rosalind worried now how Robert would cope but soon found that her worry was unfounded. Robert himself explained to her, “I’ve heard Marcus’ account of his near death many times, and I’ve seen his face light up in awe when he talks about standing in the valley; I know that it was real for him. Through him, it became real for me too. I’ll miss him, but I know without reservation that he is well and I’ll see him again – as we all will.”

  Robert’s daughter Emily then pulled into the driveway in Marcus’ Jeep. She picked it up after it had been towed by the police and kept until arrangements could be made to bring it home. She got out of the car carrying Marcus’s backpack with his camera gear which she slung over one shoulder. She waved her other hand which held Marcus’ phone. “I found this under the car seat, but the battery is dead.”

  “There’s a charger on the kitchen counter, dear,” Rosalind said as she hugged her in greeting.

  Her house filled with people; friends from the clinic and Marcus’ work, neighbors, farmers, and laborers. Many Marcus had touched personally. They carried in food and took over the kitchen preparing meals. Tim had flown in from Chicago, and she was also pleased to see that the Dietzs had come. After the trial, Marcus made contact through his lawyer and offered to talk. They took Marcus up on the offer, and he talked to them about Lily’s experience and the sense of peace that surrounded her. They had stayed in contact since. There was nothing for Rosalind to do and she felt a little out of place in her own home. She talked to everyone, accepted their condolences and gave thanks, eventually drifting to a back room that Marcus used as an office/study/workroom. She recognized several small projects of his that were un-finished; a draft technical paper, proofs of photographs to be reviewed, an invoice for parts for the carburetor he was re-building in the workshop, but mostly she felt the weight of the books and files that filled the bookshelves that lined the room. This was all related to his passion – to understand the healing process more fully and what it could mean for human potential.

  As she stood pondering the legacy he left, she felt someone enter the room and turned to see Senator Grantham standing in the doorway. Rosalind beamed, reached out to him and said: “Oh Will, I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Roz, you know I would move heaven and earth to be here. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine Will; still numb I guess. I know that will pass, but right now I feel hollow like there is an echo in my life that only returns my own thoughts and feelings back to me.” She sighed and waved her hand around the room. “I was just now thinking about what I should do with all of this. It’s a legacy I want to protect and put to good use.”

  “We can all help with that Roz, and I have a few ideas.” She hugged him, put her arm through his and leaned on his shoulder.

  “I miss him, Will.”

  “We all do, Roz. Keep in mind that we love you both. You gave each other meaning, and this would not be possible without you,” he said as he pointed to the bookshelves. “And personally, Roz let me tell you what a joy it has been to walk through life with you two.” She sighed again and patted his hand in silent thanks.

  In that silent moment, they heard laughter coming from the living room. Rosalind looked to the sound of the voices and said, “Let’s join the others and see what they’re talking about.”

  In a few hours, Rosalind’s energy had reached a low point. Most of the visitors had left, and Robert and Alecia were doing the final clean-up before they too would leave for the night. Emily came out of the kitchen holding Marcus’ cell phone and said: “Aunt Rosalind, you’ve got to hear this.” Robert and Alecia also gathered close as Emily placed the phone on the coffee table and scrolled to an audio file. She advanced near to the end of the file and said, “These are Uncle Marcus’ notes from the pictures he took, but you have to hear the end.” She pressed ‘Play.’

  Marcus was heard describing one of his images in a low, tired voice, then he talked of the need for a brief nap. The recording was then silent except for the sounds of his breathing until even the breathing sounds faded away into total silence. Emily held up her hand to signal that they should wait. A few anxious seconds passed when they were startled by Marcus’ clear, strong, and wonder-filled voice, “Look at all the colors.”

  Epilogue

  I start where the last man left off. – Thomas Edison

&nbs
p; The small boat rocked against the Bristol dock as three passengers climbed aboard, one carrying a little wooden box. The boat left the dock and pulled into the channel for the short trip upstream on the Delaware River. As it arrived at the turnpike bridge, the captain throttled the engine back to hold station beneath the bridge. Three passengers gathered at the stern, opened the wooden box, and poured the ashes into the river. “Goodbye my friend,” Robert said as he put his arm around his daughter. The Senator bowed his head and added his prayer silently. He then looked up and nodded for the captain to return them to the dock.

  As they disembarked, Robert and Will shook hands as Will said, “We will have a lot of work to do.” He turned to Emily and added, “I’ll be introducing a bill next week for the research funding.”

  “I’m ready,” Emily said as she reached out to shake the Senator’s hand. Will smiled as he felt the warmth in young Emily’s hands.

  PostScript

  Emily settled into the worn leather chair that was now so familiar to her. She had spent many hours there enjoying the solitude of Marcus’ study as she read from the book collection. Emily and Marcus would talk for hours in this room about a wide range of topics. Those memories linger, and she could still close her eyes and feel him near.

  She felt different than most about his death; she missed him to be sure but was excited for him too. “Maybe he would get some of his questions answered now,” she thought. She had talked to Aunt Rosalind earlier in the day and offered a proposal, “Aunt Rosalind, I would like to try a tell Uncle Marcus’ story before people forget; I think it would be a good story to tell. Could I do that; would it be OK with you?”

  Rosalind responded while reaching out to hug her, “Oh honey, of course, it would be OK, Marcus and I would be honored. I am so proud of you Emily, and I am sure that Marcus is too. I will help you any way I can.”

  With that, Emily began with the telling of Marcus’ story. She thought it would be best to start at the end with his love of taking snow pictures.

  As she sorted through the papers on his desk, she came across a well-worn notebook and opened it to find his list of questions for God. She said to herself, “Well, there’s no time like the present,” fired up the computer, propped the notebook under the desk lamp and began to type.

  Marcus had many questions that he asked of God. But God was typically silent, and he was left to consider them himself….

  What is the point of us?

  This question and other variations have been asked for eons and Marcus, when he asked this as a teenager, didn’t expect to discover any novel philosophical or religious insight to a question that had been pondered by much more capable minds. His interest was personal and the answer he sought only needed to serve him. Later in life, he thought this question could be asked more simply; Does life have a purpose?

  His love of science as a kid and his training in science as an adult were intimately linked to his sense of wonder. He marveled at both man-made and natural creations but found nature to be far more complex and subtle. He embodied Einstein’s belief that “Curiosity is more important than knowledge.” He was both curious and humbled about what he did not yet understand, and he wondered still; “Where does this come from?”, “Why are we driven by curiosity?” and “Why does this matter to us?”

  As a biologist, he was in awe as he peered through a microscope and saw life teeming in a drop of pond water and was further amazed when he watched cells divide; life emerged before his eyes. And taken to the scale of fields of corn, vast expanses of forest and animals of every description, his amazement led him to ask “What is the purpose of life?”

  Although fundamental to his training, Darwinism did not sufficiently answer the question for him. He did not see the linkage between the chemical reactions of the primordial soup and the animating force of life, - particularly one that leads to a curious and questioning mind. As important and illuminating as the discovery of DNA was, he remained unconvinced about DNA determinism; that our DNA determines who we are. He knew that who we are can be changed with a single thought.

  To ask “Does life have purpose?” is essentially to ask, “Is there a God?”, since who would give life purpose other than God? Man has asked that question forever too. Marcus had already decided that question to his own satisfaction before that fateful swim in the Delaware River. He believed that God exists, but that she is all too silent. When Marcus considered what purpose she might have had in mind, he thought about the arc of history that got us to this place and time, man’s stumbling, bumbling, herky-jerky progression, the driving concept that came to mind was the same one he felt every day; curiosity. And since curiosity is our search for knowledge we don’t yet have, he thought this was as good an explanation as any other. The point of us may well be to learn, - everything.

  Why are some people born with “gifts,” while others are not?

  As a teenager, Marcus struggled with the inequities he observed and lived with in his life. The family he was born into was itself struggling; his father’s alcoholism was a stone that each dragged with them. He decided at an early age to find strength in that experience. It forced him to focus.

  Yet as he looked out to the broader world, he realized that some inequities cannot be overcome with individual focus. Those that occur at birth have a different genesis, and this realization gave rise to his question about those conditions that exist at the very beginning of life.

  In his search for understanding, there were at least two avenues he chose to consider: science and religious philosophy. He started with science. He summarized that science would suggest that the attributes we call “gifts” are the result of random interactions and variations in our genetic make-up, environmental conditioning or both. Therefore, the occurrence of prodigies such as Mozart, Newton, or Einstein is the result of a chaotic biochemical interplay with no particular guiding impulse; in other words, simply by chance.

  Further, human capabilities would be distributed as illustrated by the bell curve with some above and others below the normal condition. Marcus found it depressing that the best of us, by some measure, would be the result of a random genetic nuance. Although he understood the logic, it felt hollow and didn’t address the substance of meaning. “But these prodigies do exist in the spectrum of humanity; is it possible that their very existence points to a human potential that we could all attain some day – in other words, can we shift the curve?”, he asked.

  The religious philosophy side of the question felt to him like wading through quicksand; without the logic of science, there was little firm ground on which to stand. But he dove in any way. He concluded that the use of the term “gift” to characterize the attribute of a prodigy had implications all its own. A gift is something bestowed on someone, and the use of the term implies that there is a gift giver. Since many of the attributes of prodigies are innate, the gift giver is assumed to be God; who else has the means to bestow an attribute at birth? Yet if this reasoning is adopted, other issues and questions arise.

  If God determines who gets the prodigious gifts, does she also decide who gets the disabilities? Is there a limit to God’s determinations; does she select some things and let nature determine the rest? And if she does determine every aspect of every life, what then is the point of us? Are we then mere lumps of clay on God’s workbench? Marcus thought not.

  He turned to his personal concept of God as a loving parent and asked what parent would bestow gifts on one child and disabilities on another? None that he knew of. Therefore, if God is not responsible for this inequity, who or what is? At this point, he thought that it would be easy to circle back to science and assign the cause to chaos, but he was nagged by another question; Is it possible that there is a purpose or intent for this inequity that he doesn’t yet grasp?

  He asked himself that aside from the immediate contribution that a prodigy makes to society, what other purposes might the prodigy
serve? The results of their work live on and elevate understanding to be sure. The calculus of Newton and the relativity of Einstein are radical, thought-changing concepts that took a prodigy to conceive, but are now taught in high school. A prodigy’s contribution from a human sense, may well be to help us all move along the path toward realizing greater human potential, but is that also their purpose?

  And if prodigious ‘gifts’ are purpose driven, what of the opposite end of the spectrum, what purpose do disease and disability serve, particularly with children? If there is a purpose known only to God, clearly those afflicted are important individuals since much has been asked of them. Marcus thought of the kids in the children’s hospital and what they taught him. Is that the point? Are we to learn courage from children and empathy from those with fewer “gifts”?

  “Yes, we are,” he concluded.

  Why do healers die – can’t they heal themselves?

  One thing that Marcus was aware of from his earliest readings about healers was that healers die too. No 1,000-year-old healers are walking about so, despite all of their capabilities to heal others, they cannot cheat death, as the saying goes. To Marcus, this is consistent with the accounts of healers who considered themselves to be conduits that direct energy to others; they don’t hold onto it themselves. And, the recipients don’t live forever either. It seems that this process is more about quality than quantity.

  Why are people angry and mean?

  As a boy, Marcus was witness to a lot of anger, particularly from his father. Even as a teenager, he tried to understand it. Marcus knew that some of the anger he saw in his father was expressed through his alcoholism, but he didn’t think his addiction was the root. He had seen happy drunks and mean drunks and his father was the latter. He believed that anger was already there and became manifest more readily when he was drinking.