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It seems any remembrance of Ed that I share will reveal more about me than him. I have tried to recall an event or conversation with Ed that would be meaningful to his mourners. Almost all our exchanges--including the e-mails we wrote to each other just two days before he died—involved him mentoring, supporting, and guiding me. But what did I ever learn about him? Three things come to mind:
1. Though he always listened and responded to me thoughtfully and with encouragement, he would never let me interrupt him. If I jumped in during a pause in his sentence, he waited for me to finish and then continued exactly where he’d left off, as if I hadn’t just rudely broken his rhythm. He cured me of a boorish habit without ever telling me.
2. He always addressed me as “Genius.”
3. He had a remarkably long list of New Year’s resolutions, perfectly printed and stuck on his refrigerator door, in January 2001 or 2002. Each item was a general goal unto itself and less a specific action. Things like “Reach deeper to become more creative and productive” and “Be fuller, more generous, more forgiving, more patient.” A dozen like these. Impossible, I thought at the time. But not for Ed.
His death has hit me hard. I am comforted by a Cherokee song that makes me imagine Ed with David now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VqoxOcEqpk
Upon meeting Ed it is hard to believe so much life could be contained in one body, one fabulous fabulous body. It is now harder to believe that any force could have separated one from the other. Safe travels Ed, you are carried on through our dance, laughter, and innovation. KT
It seems any remembrance of Ed that I share will reveal more about me than him. I have tried to recall an event or conversation with Ed that would be meaningful to his mourners. Almost all our exchanges--including the e-mails we wrote to each other just two days before he died—involved him mentoring, supporting, and guiding me. But what did I ever learn about him? Three things come to mind:
ReplyDelete1. Though he always listened and responded to me thoughtfully and with encouragement, he would never let me interrupt him. If I jumped in during a pause in his sentence, he waited for me to finish and then continued exactly where he’d left off, as if I hadn’t just rudely broken his rhythm. He cured me of a boorish habit without ever telling me.
2. He always addressed me as “Genius.”
3. He had a remarkably long list of New Year’s resolutions, perfectly printed and stuck on his refrigerator door, in January 2001 or 2002. Each item was a general goal unto itself and less a specific action. Things like “Reach deeper to become more creative and productive” and “Be fuller, more generous, more forgiving, more patient.” A dozen like these. Impossible, I thought at the time. But not for Ed.
His death has hit me hard. I am comforted by a Cherokee song that makes me imagine Ed with David now:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VqoxOcEqpk
—Ben Munisteri
Upon meeting Ed it is hard to believe so much life could be contained in one body, one fabulous fabulous body. It is now harder to believe that any force could have separated one from the other.
ReplyDeleteSafe travels Ed, you are carried on through our dance, laughter, and innovation.
KT