Living Longer, Living Well

Over the New Years weekend I tuned into a CNN special investigating why people in some areas of the world live an extraordinarily long life. The report spanned the globe looking at factors such as diet, environment, physical and mental activity, genetics, relationships and community, and faith. It was interesting to reflect on what it means to live for such a long time.

On New Years Eve, I made chaplain rounds on pediatrics at Carolinas Medical Center. It is always an emotional day for me. My first patient at New York Hospital in 1996 and my last patient in Cincinnati in 1999 both died on December 31, 1999 — eight hours apart on the eve of the millennium. To this day, I cannot comprehend the significance of this confluence of events; I only know that buried there is a powerful message.

The juxtaposition of a documentary on longevity, and saying Kaddish for two of the most important people in my life who lived 6-1/2 and 2-1/2 years respectively, made me think about the value we usually atach to living a long time.

I was with my 2-1/2 year old friend when he died in Cincinnati. The impact of his life was evident at the funeral where some 30 members of the hospital staff turned out. His coy, mischievous smile, the warmth he showed toward everyone he met, and his obvious zest for life touched the lives of so many others in a profound way. I had lost track of my 6-1/2 year old friend in New York years earlier. It was only because one of my Israel rabbinic classmates coincidentally ended up as a pediatric resident at New York Hospital that I learned of her death. Not having the constant, loving support of relatives, this little girl had created her own family among the staff on pediatrics at New York Hospital. She was a challenge to everyone around her, and yet she had an endearing quality that was irresistible. Several months after her death, I called the Child Life Department at the hospital to make a donation in her memory. When I finally got through, the woman who answered the phone demonstrated all of the impatience, gruffness and aggravation at being interrupted that I’d come to expect of New Yorkers. She was very short with me and demanded to know — quickly, please — what it was I wanted. When I told her the name of the patient in whose name I was making a donation, there was dead silence on the other end of the phone. And then after a moment, in a quiet and gentle voice, she said, “Yes, we all miss her, too.”

These two children only lived a total of nine years, yet led powerful lives that continue to live on in others they touched — and, I am privileged to say, me included. What I find truly tragic are people who exist on this earth for decades, and yet leave barely a mark on the people or the world around them. Many people put great value on living a long life. These two beautiful children taught me that it is more important to live a vibrant one.

L’shalom,
Andrew Bernard
Cantor