PeterFebruary 13, 1960 - January 23, 2007
This amazing man has left us. He was diagnosed with germ cell cancer in September. He had gone through chemotherapy to the end of December, and was doing well. Unfortunately, the treatment also affected the healthy cells in his lungs. He was admitted back to the hospital last week with respiratory difficulties that progressively worsened. He was put on a ventilator Monday night to give him some rest from the labored breathing. His heart stopped 5 times that night, but each time they were able to revive him. On Tuesday morning, his heart just wouldn't respond anymore.
He leaves a beautiful wife and two small boys, and an enormously expansive Estonian community.
My two abiding memories of him are from the woods of the Muskoka region of Ontario; my first encounter was in 1984, when I was on a hike with 14 other teenagers and we got lost in the woods for 10 hours. He came barging out of the trees, a picture of vigor and strength in full fatigues, to rescue us (he didn't; we lost all faith when he started blowing his whistle and yelling for help). He was part of that ordeal, and having survived it binds all sixteen of us for life. It is a famous tale that still gets told every time this group gets together.
The second memory is from five years ago, when he taught me something wondrous. We were in the Muskoka sauna, at midnight, and we went swimming. A small group of us swam out to the middle of the lake and slowed our breathing down and then submerged ourselves completely into the cool, dark water and just hovered there, listening to the deep water sounds. There were stars and northern lights and dark, dark skies. There was only dark, and water, and breathing, and celestial oneness. It was a meditative, hypnotic moment.
This was a man who had an enormous life-force and whose joy filled a room. He embraced the sounds of wind and rainfall. He lived in the desert of Saudi Arabia for 8 years and was able to articulate what he learned there with poetic respect. He was fully alive, and such a person does not deserve to be taken from us.
What I will take away is the knowledge that each life touches another life. What do I want my touch to be?
Peter's life has taught me to be mindful of that.
He leaves a beautiful wife and two small boys, and an enormously expansive Estonian community.
My two abiding memories of him are from the woods of the Muskoka region of Ontario; my first encounter was in 1984, when I was on a hike with 14 other teenagers and we got lost in the woods for 10 hours. He came barging out of the trees, a picture of vigor and strength in full fatigues, to rescue us (he didn't; we lost all faith when he started blowing his whistle and yelling for help). He was part of that ordeal, and having survived it binds all sixteen of us for life. It is a famous tale that still gets told every time this group gets together.
The second memory is from five years ago, when he taught me something wondrous. We were in the Muskoka sauna, at midnight, and we went swimming. A small group of us swam out to the middle of the lake and slowed our breathing down and then submerged ourselves completely into the cool, dark water and just hovered there, listening to the deep water sounds. There were stars and northern lights and dark, dark skies. There was only dark, and water, and breathing, and celestial oneness. It was a meditative, hypnotic moment.
This was a man who had an enormous life-force and whose joy filled a room. He embraced the sounds of wind and rainfall. He lived in the desert of Saudi Arabia for 8 years and was able to articulate what he learned there with poetic respect. He was fully alive, and such a person does not deserve to be taken from us.
What I will take away is the knowledge that each life touches another life. What do I want my touch to be?
Peter's life has taught me to be mindful of that.
5 comments:
Sorry for your loss is never a good enough thing to say when someone's lost a loved one-but I am....your discription is so human.
sounds like a wonderful man.
my cowbell avatar is always bad when giving condolences. but i like to think that cowbell gene enjoys life while he's banging away at his cowbell.
The moments are few enough that when they come along they have to be clasped tightly and treasured forever. I envy everyone their moments. And there is more life in one touch, if it's the right kind, that there are no words in any language that could adequately describe it.
I wish I could have the mindfulness to be always aware of what my touch is but, like most people, I get caught up in the banality of everyday and my own little obsessions.
Maybe that's the meaning in the lives of the Peters, and the brevity of those lives: to remind us that what we think is important isn't really important but how we are touching other lives is.
What a lovely man. You were lucky to have him in your life.
Big hugs.
Too young, too soon.
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