Life I get. Death I do not.
This past weekend I learned we lost two local folks who I have come to slightly know in my work as a journalist. It is easy sometimes, looking at obituaries in the few newspapers that remain, to just gloss over them because we don't know who the people are really. But each one of those head and shoulders photographs has many who know them, love them and will miss them. They mourn and will forever be at a loss without them.
I lost my grandmother Sayer thirty years ago and it dawned on me today that, though she is still with me in the lessons she taught when I was smart enough to listen, I have lived more years without her than I did with her.
The understanding I have thinking of this is less than the distance between my thumb and forefinger pressed as tightly together as I can.
I understand life. Death I do not.
Last year I photographed a young Oil City man named Aaron McCracken. A jovial young man who had obviously been through hell, but still came out to the edge of the river to participate in something he loved, with a family he was born into and another he earned. The annual Rock in River stone skipping contest was a place Aaron made his mark with the nickname "The Kracken."
This past weekend I learned we lost two local folks who I have come to slightly know in my work as a journalist. It is easy sometimes, looking at obituaries in the few newspapers that remain, to just gloss over them because we don't know who the people are really. But each one of those head and shoulders photographs has many who know them, love them and will miss them. They mourn and will forever be at a loss without them.
I lost my grandmother Sayer thirty years ago and it dawned on me today that, though she is still with me in the lessons she taught when I was smart enough to listen, I have lived more years without her than I did with her.
The understanding I have thinking of this is less than the distance between my thumb and forefinger pressed as tightly together as I can.
I understand life. Death I do not.
Last year I photographed a young Oil City man named Aaron McCracken. A jovial young man who had obviously been through hell, but still came out to the edge of the river to participate in something he loved, with a family he was born into and another he earned. The annual Rock in River stone skipping contest was a place Aaron made his mark with the nickname "The Kracken."
I truly didn't know him, I simply snapped a few photos of him throwing rocks and last year, after going through several bouts of chemotherapy, he tossed a couple whoppers and ended up in second place. In fact, his one throw of 46 skips was the best of any previous Rock in River champion. Unfortunately, another competitor that day blew the record away with a monster toss of over 50.
Tributes from the rock-skipping family poured over social media Sunday and Monday.
"I'm not sure I have the words for this one...." wrote Dave Ohmer, a multiple Rock in River champion. "...The world lost another great personality. It's rare to find individuals like Aaron McCracken and when they pass on, they really do leave the world a darker place....his smile was contagious, and genuine always. His nature was undeniably good."
I understand life. Death I do not.
Tributes from the rock-skipping family poured over social media Sunday and Monday.
"I'm not sure I have the words for this one...." wrote Dave Ohmer, a multiple Rock in River champion. "...The world lost another great personality. It's rare to find individuals like Aaron McCracken and when they pass on, they really do leave the world a darker place....his smile was contagious, and genuine always. His nature was undeniably good."
I understand life. Death I do not.
The other loss I read about this weekend was James Reavis. He was a man I came to know as someone who always had something positive to say. I'll admit to several times saying hello and not truly knowing who he was, but his facial expressions in saying hello was infectious and like that of a family member.
He stopped me one time to tell me nice things about what I was doing for the community while I was still working at the Derrick and News-Herald. He was genuine and I appreciate that he took a moment to say hello and engage me for no other reason but to say thank you. When I was laid off and started doing what I do now, he came to me with concern and offered to help me in any way he could. He truly loved the community he was helping to build.
Again, I barely knew him, he barely knew me, but we shared the bond of love of community. And his kindness I will never forget. I will continue to see him as I document his children in the community as they make their difference in the world to honor their father and mother Jessie, who has been equally gracious to me even when I took a picture she didn't find very flattering.
I understand life. Death I do not.
My heart goes out to these two families and the community has lost a lot this weekend, but hopefully gained in the long run from the lives of these two. They have given of themselves so that our lives could be better.
RIP.
He stopped me one time to tell me nice things about what I was doing for the community while I was still working at the Derrick and News-Herald. He was genuine and I appreciate that he took a moment to say hello and engage me for no other reason but to say thank you. When I was laid off and started doing what I do now, he came to me with concern and offered to help me in any way he could. He truly loved the community he was helping to build.
Again, I barely knew him, he barely knew me, but we shared the bond of love of community. And his kindness I will never forget. I will continue to see him as I document his children in the community as they make their difference in the world to honor their father and mother Jessie, who has been equally gracious to me even when I took a picture she didn't find very flattering.
I understand life. Death I do not.
My heart goes out to these two families and the community has lost a lot this weekend, but hopefully gained in the long run from the lives of these two. They have given of themselves so that our lives could be better.
RIP.
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