Reflections Of Tragedy And A New Beginning

 So I'm up early, as usual, drinking coffee and reading the online Herald. I still get the print edition, like an old habit  can't kick, and it's silly -- by the time I read it in the morning, I have already read most of the articles online. But it no longer comes on Saturday, so that makes the choice easier.

In addition to the heavy coverage of the Plague's Delta surge, they've been running very lovely profiles of the Surfside disaster. I just read and forwarded one to my family: a young couple who met at UF and recently married. The man, Luis, was living with Jonathan's cousin Moises, and another young man, along with his wife Nicki. They could have been D2 and Jonathan -- the way they loved their families and friends. Heartbreaking.

Another tale was about the Rovirosas -- the man was my age, and had become a major leader, through his family's originally Cuban business, of Port Everglades and PortMiami. All of his associates described him as I know my closest would describe me: fine in business, but only had sparkling eyes when talking about his two beautiful daughters and THEIR accomplishments. I would have been friends with Ricky Rovirosa, I have zero doubt.

Life is so fragile, fleeting, and precious. Wifey put me under a strict prohibition for my birthday weekend -- no talk of tragedies, deaths, dread diseases. I kept to it, mostly, but as we joked on our cocktail Zoom last night, since then I've had to make up for lost time.

In our funny macabre way, with Kenny, Eric, Josh and Barry and Scott online, Barry and I played a sort of high stakes misery poker. Barry shared the tale of a delightful 17 year old with his "top 5% of nicest families ever" who was vacationing with them in Naples, standing on the beach, when struck by lightning. It stopped his heart, his Dad did CPR, and he was eventually helicoptered to Barry's hospital. He was covering in the ICU when he met the family. Ultimately the boy died, and donated organs. It was a classic tale of doing everything right, and still having tragedy visit.

But then I RAISED Barry's tale on the poker table of awfulness. I recently heard from an old friend, now a lawyer in Orlando. We had always bonded over the fact that our beloved Dads both died around the same age -- his was 62 and succumbed to ALS, the terrible Lou Gherig's Disease.

Well, my friend is the middle of three brothers, and his youngest was just diagnosed, too. Worse -- turns out they have the"familial" kind -- which means my friend and HIS brother each have a 50% chance of developing this worst of all diseases, too. For their Mom, it's a terrible medical "Saving Private Ryan" going on now. Plus, each of the 50 something brothers have kids of their own -- will they carry the fatal gene?

I've been emailing my old friend, and sharing some advice, which fortunately he already knew. Turns out UM's med school has a leading ALS Center -- their director is a top researcher. My friend already knew about them -- he's seen one of the docs there.

I just pray those tests, literally a coin flip of the future, come back the right way for him and his brother.

And yet, as these sharks of terror swim around us, there is hope. We look to the future.

Tonight I'll be officiating at my dear friend's wedding -- marrying his beautiful, long time fiancee. He's nearly 71; she's 57, but looks no older than 40. There'll be 40 of us gathered to celebrate this affirmation that the future IS something to be hopeful for.

Of course, with the Delta surging, there's a good deal of tensosity afoot. But all the guests are vaxxed, we'll do our best, and hope that by the mid week no one starts feeling those dreaded symptoms. Of course, with the jabs, the sheer terror of Covid is modulated -- the fear is of feeling crappy for several days, and most likely not going to the hospital or dying.

I have a feeling that after a few drinks tonight, and the beaming smiles of the couple and their family and friends, the fears will melt away.

So there it is -- life as a poker game. I never really played, but it's an irresistible metaphor. You hope to be dealt a fine hand, but you play whatever hand you're dealt. You bluff, you bet, you try to outwit the other players sometimes, but ultimately the game ends -- maybe with you in the chips, maybe not.

And as we get older, and therefore allowed to stay in the game awhile, an even more delicious metaphor comes into play -- the one my very smart friend Kenny uses: playing with the House's money.

Jewish tradition says a full life is three score plus 10 -- 70. The Big Man gave me nearly that number of years -- and I hope He gives me more, and lets me attain that rarefied status -- playing with the House's money.

For now, I play with my own, I guess. and the game is the only one in town.