Golden Light

Sunday evening we went to visit MBW's sister and family for a barbeque. Even though we only live about 20 minutes apart, we haven’t spent much time with them lately. They have two kids just a bit older that Chris and Tommy, and I get along with my brother-in-law pretty well. I’m not sure why we don’t see them more often.

We’re sitting on their back patio, enjoying a cold beverage, as the amber sunlight splashes across their backyard. It is a beautiful Rocky Mountain evening. When I was a TV news photographer this is what we called ‘golden light.’ It’s the warm, special light, about an hour before sunset, that is flattering to just about everything.

We’re watching our children play. They have a large backyard and a nice swing set, and our kids are having a blast. My brother-in-law takes exceptional care of his yard. His lawn is so green and lush you could film a fertilizer commercial here.

As I watched Chris and Tommy play on this gorgeous summer evening I was struck by how special this moment was. The innocence and joy on my children’s faces was wonderful to witness. The warm sunlight highlighted their fair hair, creating what looked like bright halos as they ran around on the green grass. I enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching my kids playing outdoors in a safe, secure environment. At this exact moment in time the eight of us in this backyard had not a single care in the world.

It was a picture perfect moment.

“So what,” you say. “You’re The Family Man. All we ever hear about is how wonderful your life is. What's your point?”

Well, I’ll tell you.

Occasionally in this blog I write about how fortunate I am to have the life that I do – a fantastic wife, two wonderful kids, a great job. We have a nice home in a decent neighborhood, we’re healthy, and we’ve got a few bucks in a savings account. Life is good.

Yet it is all so fragile.

My mother passed away on Memorial Day this year. You may have read about our simple service for her. What you don’t know is that for the last 26 years of her life she was confined to a wheelchair after an accident in our home. She was 42 years old when it happened. One minute she was active, happy, normal. The next instant she was paralyzed for life.

My sister and I were in the house when it happened. It had a very profound effect on me.

One of Chris and Tommy’s cousins had a serious bout with cancer a couple of years ago. She’s cancer-free now, but it’s one of those things where you just never know. She was not even 10 years old when she was first diagnosed.

My brother-in-law, sitting right next to me, recently developed a health condition. We don’t know the extent of it and he doesn’t talk about it much. But watching the way MBW and her sister are whispering in hushed tones, I know there is some concern.

Another brother-in-law nearly lost his brother in a car accident three years ago. He suffered a serious injury that affects him to this day. He will never be able to do many of the things he once took for granted.

In the nearly ten years I was a TV news photographer, I saw many terrible things.

A small plane went down just after takeoff at a rural airport near our town. A family of five, leaving to go on vacation, perished in the fiery crash. By chance I was one of the first to arrive on the scene. Through the lens, I saw the charred bodies of the parents and their children. They were still smoldering.

At 2:00 a.m. on a frigid Saturday night I was called out to a car wreck on the freeway. Approaching the scene I saw a body under a sheet. Long, blond hair spilled out from underneath at one end; patent black leather boots stuck out the other. To me, a nameless dead girl on a lonely, icy highway. To someone else, a friend, a sister, a daughter.

I was there, and caught on tape, when a distraught mother was told by a firefighter that her only son had drowned in the river after falling from a boat less than thirty feet from shore. As long as I live I will never forget the sound of her screams and sobs.

One moment you can walk. The next, you’ll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair wracked with pain. One moment you are cancer free, the next you are not. One moment you are happily leaving for a family vacation. The next, you’re the lead story on the evening news.

So many sad stories, tragic tales. Too many.

Yet, at this moment, in this backyard, our children play without a care in the warmth of the summer sunshine.

The Golden Light.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Tonight the Golden Light shines on my family. All is well.

And I am very, very grateful.

Especially tonight, it's great to be The Family Man.