“Nathaniel”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(12-18)

On the journey.

Throughout life, for this writer, one constant has remained enduring as a focal point. The idea that being alive, in the mortal sense, is having gained a seat as a passenger on a train traveling across the vast distance between birth and eternity. A trip taken from station to station. With fellow adventurers entering and exiting the rail cars, while images roll past the windows. Each charting the experience from a personal perspective. Witnessing and processing the trip as a singular happening. Yet sharing the same on every level. Bonded by wordless expressions of excitement, hope, wonder and sometimes, dread or regret.

Recently, I have pondered my own metaphoric train ride, being carried back to Ohio after an experience through Cornell University. One that happened in New York State. After dreaming of grandeur I spun back to earth, like someone with a ticket not properly punched. Instead of disembarking at a station in London, Paris, Rome or perhaps Moscow, Beijing or Bangladesh, I found myself standing on a platform in Geauga County.

Instead of writing for Rolling Stone Magazine or rubbing elbows with creative celebrities, I took up sleeping on a fold-out couch in my parents’ living room. Shortly afterward, I began to hang out at Ernst Lanes, a local bowling alley, despite never having participated in the sport. There, a new circle of friends gathered regularly. Tim, Jennifer, Kevin, Rick and Scott, who everyone knew as ‘Scooter.’ And there, I was persuaded to trade my aspirations for champagne, in favor of the more attainable taste offered by Miller High Life beer.

The group remained important even as we moved in separate directions. Scott provided a connection to the owner of a supermarket in town, where he was employed. More friends joined the circle. Keith, Mike, Wayne, John, Bob and Paul. Cheryl and Charlene. Eileen and Vicki. I soon found myself in the midst of an unexpected rerouting of this life-by-rail. Now part of what felt like a local baseball team, sometimes undisciplined and unorthodox in habits, but always productive. Unaware, I had begun a training regimen that would lead to over 30 years of retail management, a gainful occupation that paid bills and supported my family, while I continued to write. The train chuffed away with purpose, carrying passengers here and there, while I sat and pondered. I was married and married again. Promoted, laid off, reclassified, and promoted again. Then, technology broadened the scope of this ride toward oblivion.

Facebook brought us all back together.

The social platform made it possible to reconnect with Keith and Charlene, now united in matrimony. I remembered him as ambitious and intelligent. One likely to have strong opinions. I remembered her first as a cheerful high school kid, and then, as a nursing student. Gifted with promise. And purity of heart. I followed with great interest their posts about baby Nathaniel. A young son with the sort of charm that warmed the digital confines of cyberspace. His interest in colorful cartoon figures and sports competitors was appealing. From the vantage point of a child, he retained the ability to wonder honestly and fully, with joyful eyes. Something often lost to adults. I enjoyed watching his development while my own train ride continued.

At some point, a dark cloud of sorts drifted overhead. Nathaniel was diagnosed with cancer. Thus, his transformation into a ‘little warrior’ began. He battled this affliction with moxie more intense than some might expect from such a young soul.

Quietly, I admired his energy.

Nathaniel’s journey had been set off course. Yet while playing and singing and dancing and doing the things typical children do with abandon, he also fought the good fight. The ultimate fight. As did his parents. The contest of light against looming darkness. One better suited, perhaps, to those of advanced years and memories amassed by time. But in a battle joined by circumstance, not choice.

The family searched out of state, for medical alternatives. Studied options, made and remade plans, consulted experts, prayed and held fast in their faith. Charlene’s employment with the Cleveland Clinic undoubtedly helped in these efforts. Watching as a concerned spectator, on my laptop or cell phone, I prayed for the loving embrace of a higher power. With each day that passed, it became clear that such bursts of positive energy were what he needed to thrive. Like any of the mythical, illustrated beings inhabiting the pages of comic books throughout history, this ‘little superhero’ was on a trek unimaginable to mere mortals.

A quest to retain life itself.

Notable to many were Nathaniel’s interactions with professional athletes. Names and faces like those of Joe Thomas, Francisco Lindor, LeBron James, and Steph Curry became commonplace in family posts. At first, I reckoned that these meetings might boost his spirits, and those of his family, while enduring the daunting burden of many medical treatments. But then, an epiphany arrived. I saw something different and unexpected.

His unflagging spirit and determination to live was more uplifting to them, in the end.

The year had been one that cast long shadows across my erstwhile group from the bowling alley. Beginning in January, I found myself hobbling along to pay tribute to one, then another, and another. Eventually, from the safety of my imaginary rail car, peering into eternity through the windows, I remembered lines of scripture from the Holy Bible. 1 Corinthians 13:

“For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears… For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

As his own journey drew to a close, Nathaniel wielded a superpower on par with any of the heroes he enjoyed. One far more mysterious and everlasting than any other ability known to those who walk paths of mortal existence. Or those who ride as a passenger on the train of life.

The power to love, and be loved.

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