In general, I don't pressure myself to post on weekends. If I'm around, I do. If not, not. Today, however, I was absent for an altogether sadder reason. I was in New York, attending the memorial service for the younger brother of a dear friend. My friend's sibling was an extraordinary young man: He was born with health problems that left him mute, and with some facial disfigurement. His was a road marked by surgeries and the stares of strangers, where many were robbed of the joy of his presence because they didn't know to look for it. But he was wickedly intelligent, with a quick laugh and a slyly subversive sense of humor. He was easy to hang out with, infectiously fun to be near, and the best Scrabble player I've ever met -- I watched (well, experienced) him effortlessly dispatch a table of professional wordsmiths all multiple years his senior. And he was loved by a wonderful family and adored by an extraordinary brother. His death was an awful accident, the sort of quiet tragedy which shows that the world is much worse than merely cruel, it is unconcerned and inattentive to those who fight so hard to inhabit it. But a measure of grace was ripped from the darkness, and the memorial service was beautiful, primarily because each testimonial channeled his personality with a clarity and coherence so forceful that it left no doubt as to the power of his imprint, and to how deeply his life mattered. The speeches were also striking, though, because more than a few were from the doctors and surgeons and nurses and pulmonologists who'd spent years of their lives with this young man, and had done heroic, even daring, work on his behalf. In honor of his life, and their work, his family has asked for donations to National Foundation for Facial Reconstruction. "The NFFR founded and proudly remains the funding arm of the Institute of Reconstructive Plastic Surgery (IRPS) at NYU Medical Center. The Institute is a center of excellence that diagnoses and provides medical treatment and psychosocial services for over 1,700 patients every year, regardless of the severity of their condition, the length of treatment or the family’s ability to afford care - 72% of the patients seen at the Institute are uninsured, Medicaid recipients or 'clinic' care patients." It's a remarkable center that makes possible remarkable lives. If you have a bit of extra money, you could do much worse than to support their work.
