Jonathon Samuel Miller

Left us on April 3rd, 2007

"And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."


We lose! In a world obsessed with winning, the promotional propaganda endorsed by generals, athletes, corporate overachievers, and politicians, the reality is that we are all born losers. We lose, in alternate degrees and at various times, our innocence, our dignity, our sense of direction and well-being, and if we are adept, much of our angst and confusion. In a more concrete respect we lose our parents, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, mates, siblings, and in the only end we ever really know, ourselves. We are constantly reminded of our mortality and our status as mere renters on a planet that nurtures us, despite our hostile behavior, and appears to serve, for all intent, as an accommodating home away from home. We lose all along the way, the natural order of things, and we lose whatever is left to us in the homestretch. We could venture into the psychological sector and link all this to our mania for victory, but that is not the purpose of this posting.

We are an amazingly adaptive life form and can accept even this seemingly dour prospect, but we cannot, or will not, accept the departure from our midst of a child. This is wrong. The order of passage is supposed to arc upward, not spiral down to our most precious issue. Yet it does, time and again. It is the most distasteful of life’s medicines and we are loath to endure it, but nature once again reprimands us with, “It must be so.” And so, apparently, it must.

This is where we have some choice; not in what life hands us, but in our own struggle to adapt. The choice is in our imagination, an aptitude alien to our fellow creatures who lack the facility to question why. Herein may lie the balm we so desperately seek.

We can empower ourselves with this sense of choice over probability. We can, within the realm of our conjecture, choose to suffer the anguish of this moment, or to wish our beloved had never existed, thereby sparing ourselves the torment of monumental loss. So, we must all ask ourselves, what would we wish for?

If presented with this prospect at inception, I would have chosen the anguish of loss over the salve of ignorance. I would not have missed sharing the earth with Jonathon in his brief existence for all the promises of reassuring bliss proffered. His life was worth more to me than the eradication of my suffering. The spontaneous smile that graced my face when he approached was testament to the delight his presence ensured. The respect he offered, along with the affection we shared, was a cherished reality that I do not choose to forget. His friendship with and loyalty to my son was a poignant demonstration of fidelity and a joy to behold. He has touched each and every one of us and is deserving of our sorrow at his passing, but also equally worthy of our reminiscences of his contribution to our lives.

It is my firm belief that we all serve as messengers to one another in this realm. No biblical prophet or angel of mercy can effect our lives as much as our interaction within our species. Jonathon’s message took root in my heart and will remain a gentle light of sustenance evermore. I will carry him with me and feel blessed to have engaged him in his time. I will speak of him to others and revel in his participation in my life, and I will weep upon occasion in his absence. This remembrance of one who has touched us so dearly is what defines our humanity and propels us toward the divine. There is no priest, rabbi, minister, or imam who can deliver the message more clearly. Jon was here. We may rue that we will never meet his like again on this plane, but we are blessed that he has graced our lives at all.