The Man of Light

April 14th, 2009

April 14, 2009 — Where to begin? By now, you have heard the sorrowful news that Los Angeles Angels ballplayer, Nick Adenhart, was killed in an auto accident last Thursday, April 9, 2009.  In fact, three young lives were taken before even their 30th year—Nick Adenhart (22), Courtney Stewart (20) and Henry Pearson (25)—while another hangs by thread, Jon Wilhite (24). And I think it important to remember the fifth tragedy belongs to Andrew Gallo (22), who must spend the rest of his life coming to terms with having killed three people. To all their families, friends and teammates, my heart and prayers go out to you.

The media has done a thorough job of covering Adenhart’s life, career, friendships, family. There is no need to rehash those details here. Regular readers are familiar with how I choose what to write about. And it is with this goal in mind, I try to pay my respects to Adenhart’s memory with these words.

Especially at times such as these, I think it is important to keep our relationships in perspective. Unlike friends, family and teammates, fans sit on the outside of the clubhouse. We can only share what we are given, which unfortunately leaves most of us with a choice between less-than-intimate reports provided by the professionals at ESPN, MLB.com and FOX, or, unsourced gossip. Or even worse, purely speculative fantasy. [I must apologize for the unfair generalization to Angels' beat writer Lyle Spencer, who wrote beautifully about a young man he loved like a son. Spencer has suffered two deeply personal wounds this season. First, the loss of longtime friend Preston Gomez and now Adenhart.] Here in Salt Lake, the front office and ballplayers have been generous with their time and feelings. Mind you, they have remembered to include us even though their hearts are heavy with memories of their own. I think it entirely appropriate to say each of them lost far more than any of us on the outside can pretend to claim.

The ballclub arranged for a public service to be held on Easter Sunday, the holiest day in the Christian calendar. There, in His house of worship, office staff, coaches, ballplayers and fans gathered. We were led in prayer by the team chaplain, Pastor Greg Johnson of the Standing Together Ministry. Bees manager Bobby Mitchell and outfielder Terry Evans spoke on behalf of the team. Through their compassion and love, we were allowed the privilege of spending a few precious minutes gathered together as “teammates,” our heads bowed in shared remembrances. My deepest gratitude, everyone, for your kindness.

It was the words of Evans, spoken with simple elegance, which had the most stirring affect on yours truly. He didn’t know Adenhart that well, so he didn’t have many stories to tell. But in watching his teammates suffer, he came to feel the depth of their pain. He made a vow to love his own friends more deeply, to know his own teammates more closely and to remember life is a gift to be cherished for its fullness.

I cried. Again. The latest spell in a dozen over the past few days. No longer was I crying for the tragedy, or the injustice. Quite simply, I missed the young man whose gentle smile belied the quiet fire behind his eyes. No longer would I be able to celebrate his career accomplishments. No longer would I be able to wish for his future happiness as a loving husband and father. No longer would I be able to find comfort in watching the dream become reality, layer upon layer.

It might surprise my dear readers to know I am a Buddhist. Not the most exemplary practitioner, I will readily admit. Nonetheless, it is at the very core of who I am. There is a concept in Buddhist belief that those of us blessed to have tasted enlightenment are in turn obligated to help ease the suffering of others. Loving compassion for all living beings is not for the faint of heart or weak of spirit. It is a task that requires great strength and even greater faith.

That I am still here in this life, it must be because I still have work to do. And because I am but human, I need help sometimes to keep on going. When a being of such bright, pure light such as young Nick Adenhart comes along, it confirms my belief in the power of faith. In watching him struggle without quitting, it gave me hope. In watching him grow, it gave me life. In watching him succeed, it gave me joy. Such was the gift bestowed upon me, by a young man less than half my age, with whom I’d never even shared one, “Hi Nick.”

When the service was over, most lingered to socialize. I didn’t feel like talking and I needed to get outside. In the back of the church, the Wasatch Mountains were dazzlingly white under an obscenely rich, azure sky—one of the things I love best about early spring around here. I stood in a corner of the parking lot and watched as the peaks slowly changed from white to a rosy pink. I could hear behind me, people saying goodbyes, getting into their cars, slowly driving away.

As I stood and watched the mountains, I contemplated the life-affirming blessings I had been fortunate to receive during those few, precious months between last Easter Sunday and this one. And recalled the great truth woven into the words of a young ballplayer still very much alive. Life isn’t fair, that’s why we have faith; it is faith that keeps us going when reason has taken away all hope. And so the cycle continues, as it must. Thank you Nick. Thank you Terry. See you at the ballpark. . .Your friend in baseball.

Entry Filed under: Game of Life,Salt Lake Bees