Death Nibbles at the Edge of Life

Prologue: This writing is one of five produced while participating in an OLLI – Tucson class, Writing for Self-Discover, Spring 2023. This was the 4th in the series.

Death Nibbles at the Edge of Life

If you’re young, my suggestion, pick up the pace.

I realized the end was near the day I bent over in the driveway to pick up a dime and spent the next several weeks bent over in pain. Then over the decades hobbled by knee replacement surgery, triple bypass, another knee replacement, hip replacement, retirement (several times), bottles of life-sustaining medications, Medicare, the donut-hole, falling asleep in my chair, in bed by seven, and spending too much time in the doctors’ offices. Each event is a reminder I am not invincible. Over time, it happens in small, unexpected aches and pains, -nibble, -nibble.

He died.

In bed early, before 9pm but since bypass surgery and then retirement my sleep patterns all over the place. Now 10:30pm, as Seth Meyers concludes his show, I am still awake thinking about the next writing assignment. My wife, Norma, is nearby, asleep, her breathing regular, the room illuminated by her lava lamp, everything a warm shade of red. Our dog, Daisy, sitting at the end of my bed waiting for commercials ready to growl, protecting us should any four-legged creature appear.

Random thoughts drop by with possibilities, but nothing sticks. Voices In My Head whispering, “… death nibbles at the edge of life…” I continue to toss and turn, restless. I rehash why do I spend chunks of time writing and editing, rewriting? Writing is work. Listening to podcast, viewing Master Class sessions, entering contests, 50,000 words written in November (NaNoWriMo), OLLI-UA sessions, building and maintaining a website, posting on Facebook. Why? For family? Colleagues? Me? Once gone, will anyone ever read these stories left behind? Will they die along with me?

He died, still his words haunt me.

Many years ago, my freshman history teacher announced, “after you have been dead for fifty years, no one will remember you.” With that stuck in my head decided I would research my family tree.

For several years now, with notes and photographs and memories in hand, I would write. In school, I hated writing! All those writing assignments covered with red ink and a note at the end, “rewrite.” I did, with little improvement. But now, with free time available, I write, recording pieces of history to be read by family, to be saved in the cloud, published, preserved forever.

I roll over and watch blobs of wax float upward, cool then gently sink back, only to repeat. Sitting up, switching on the light, record in a nearby notepad: “He is dead, how, when, I know nothing.” With that, the Voices In My Head asks, why, for what reason, did he make that announcement? That declaration. Then I thought, “He played us.” I could be totally off, but why, a question I often ask, would in the middle of a class, for no apparent reason, make such a proclamation? Sure, it was history class, but we all sat bewildered, speechless, and that is where he left us hanging. The room remained silent. We waited for an explanation, a clarification, none came.

I have a hypothesis. At that moment, he knowingly planted a seed in our minds, our subconscious, buried, to emerge, to surface years later. In my case, repeatedly.

I closed my notepad, set it aside as Daisy gave up, jumped on the floor, into her bed and curled up. I wondered if I could recall his name. Could he still be alive, still teaching, impossible, he would be a hundred plus? I knew three things: male, Horseheads High school, and the subject history.

Unable to sleep, the research begins. Located a yearbook, 1965, the equestrian, from my freshman year having sat in my bookcase for years, 58-years, never touched. Flipped through and there I see, pictured ten different history teachers, all males. They all look the same. Nothing rings a bell. Fired up www.newspaper.com and entered search options, a few keywords, the city, the name of the high school, a range of dates. Enter and wait. I’m sure this is but a fool’s errand.

Snippets of articles appear. I selected the first entry. The title, Man had craving for education. Star-Gazette by April Hunt. James “Don” Burns. With a photograph dated 1950. Sure, he had aged, still I read on, …of Florida and formerly Suburban Acres, Big Flats… that’s but a stone’s throw from Horseheads, New York.

He died, Sunday, Aug. 18, 1996, at his Florida home from cancer. He was 70.

My heart racing as I read on, words pop out, catch my attention, bits and pieces, fragments of my past: … grew up in Athens [NY], …bachelor’s degree was in history and education leading Mr. Burns to a 20-year teaching career, …sought a doctoral degree in psychology (and received), …earned a master’s degree in education, …worked at Elmira Correctional Facility, and finally, …He was a High school Teacher in Horseheads from 1959 to 1972.

I believe teachers possess a treasure trove of notes, cards, letters, student pictures socked away in a file cabinet, captured memories. I must believe in that moment, for a reason only know to him - wondered is this my purpose. Looking into our eyes. Will anyone care? Am I making a difference?

After thirty years in the profession, I too have wondered the same.

Fifty years after his passing: Saturday, August 18, 2046. Do I need to add this date to my calendar? How old will I be, ninety-seven years, three months, fifteen days?

His funeral service, 0.5 miles from Horseheads High School, Horseheads, New York, also near Elmira College, Elmira Correctional Facility, Big Flats, New York, and Woodlawn Cemetery.

RIP

There is more to this story that speaks to his character and the impact it had on me academically, and likely others touched by his life, his willingness to go that extra mile.

In New York state, long before the standards movement with standardized testing to measure, to rate students, schools, and school districts, even entire states, there were Regents Exams. So, with this in mind, Horseheads School district offered three different diplomas. Certificate of Attendance, a Local Diploma, and Regents Diploma. The Regents Diploma was for those students planning on attending college. My goal, with my academic history, having repeated seventh grade, and family history, most members never finishing high school, did not have higher education on my bucket list. Just graduate. Mr. Burns had a different perspective, a different view of education.

Mr. Burns’ son said his father passed along his love of education and encouraged his three sons to always go higher than they thought they could.

I believe that is what he wanted, not only for his sons, but for all his students. Early in May, he announced that if you will come here every Saturday morning, “I will teach you how to pass the Regents Exam.” He guaranteed it. Four hours each session. It worked like this. Should you fail a course during the regular school year, then take the State exam, pass, you automatically pass the course, and earn Regents’ credits.

I don’t know why I accepted this challenge or what I said to my parents, but they agreed to take me to school each Saturday, back and forth. There we were, a group likely thinking this is our only chance of passing, otherwise repeating classes. These were not honor roll students, those students were home sleeping in or out and about enjoying their day away from school. We all fit in his classroom with seats to spare. Four weeks of test-taking strategies, sixteen hours. Essay questions, true/false, and multiple guess questions.

Test day, enter the room fifteen minutes early, find a seat, place two pencils and an eraser on the desk, sit back, and close your eyes and breathe. Relax. Empty your mind. I do not know how the others did, nor will I wade through the weeds, but will simply say, I passed everything.

EVERYTHING.

Those students, confident, Honor Roll college-bound students, scoffed at me for attending his classes. More than a few did not pass and ended repeating course work. I confess these strategies worked well in high school, but not so well in college. Those stories, published but for review, lack self-discipline, reading for meaning, capacity for academic writing, a love of learning, and a Mr. Burns.

Well, Mr. Burns it took a while, but I earned a Bachelor of Science in Elementary Education, Master of Science in Language, Reading, and Culture, and ABD (All But Dissertation) in Educational Leadership, with a minor in Law and thirty years in education, as a math teacher and mentor to others. I will remember you today and into the future. So, I wonder, who will remember me fifty years after I cross the line? Nibbled to nothing?

Why “Death Nibbles at the Edge of Life?” Because no matter how much I read, write, and seek to learn, I am acutely aware mortality haunts us all. So, to the young, are there things you want to get done? Pick up the pace. Get them done.

Before I submit this, want to leave a few nuggets should anyone ever find my submission and this tribute left in his memory. James “Don” Burns.

Born August 19, 1925

Died August 18, 1996

Spouse: Alberta R. (Knolls) Burns Born August 16, 1932.

Siblings have all passed on.

Three sons: Michael J., Timothy J., and Matthew W., and numerous brothers-in-laws, sisters-in-law, nieces and nephew.

“Curiosity and ambition took James ‘Don’ Burns all over the world, where he navigated Navy ships, taught school and counseled in a prison.”

“His bachelor’s degree was in history and education, leading Mr. Burns to a 20-year teaching career. He taught in Germany and Italy as part of a civil service job.”

“In Florida, Mr. Burns liked to travel to the ocean and continued to read poetry about the sea, something he had loved since his Navy days, his wife said.”

“His personality was one that was, ‘Eat, drink, and be merry because tomorrow you might not be around to enjoy it,’ his wife said.”

“He told me before he got so ill he’d had a wonderful life. Life was just an exciting adventure to him.”

In closing, I believe he planted that seed, a suggestion in our heads, because like we all do, we wonder who will remember us. Truth be told, death nibbles away. Our bodies breakdown, each day, each heartbeat a reminder, until the end arrives. It seems he is still teaching by example, eat, drink, be merry, and appreciate the time granted by providence.