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On August 29, 2000 at 9:35 PM our dear
friend, Virgil, died at 64 years of age. A good man who fought the
good fight and died peacefully in his sleep when his heart gave
it's final beat and his breath stilled for all time. He was, quite
simply, a good man and well-liked in our community. A role model
for many young African-American men- a truly devoted father,
grandfather, and husband, he loved his family and was beloved by
them.
On August 29, 2000 at 11:32PM a woman I had never known named, Engel, died in a nursing home at 92 years of age after a long and happy life. Her family felt it was a blessing not to see her suffer any longer but missed their beloved wife, mother, and grandmother who made the best pies from scratch using only her hand as a measure. They had little in common outside of their love for their family. Virgil lived in the city of Delaware his entire life. He was active in the community. Engle lived on a farm outside of the city in the country. She was a homemaker. Virgil was an African-American man who lived his life during a time that people were advocating for Civil Rights. He listened to Motown and loved the Blues. Engle had never heard of the Blues or listened to Motown. She was a fundamental Baptist and wasn't even allowed to dance when she was young. She did her chores on her farm and sometimes went to the church socials for recreation. Yet, both died on the same day, had funerals the same day and were buried on the same day and, more importantly, both families attended the other's visitation. Why? Because in 1970, when Engle lay dying in a hospital room in need of a blood transfusion. She had a rare blood type, that the hospital did not have in supply. Back then the world was a bit smaller and the hospital sent out an emergency plea via the local paper asking anyone in the community with the same blood type to donate the life saving blood she needed. There was only one man who replied to their plea for help- that man was Virgil. Virgil gave blood to Engle saving her life and giving her the chance to live to the ripe old age of 92. Engle and her family never forgot the man who had given her the blood she needed to survive. Coincidence? Or just that the world is not as large as we think it is nor are the boundaries of culture, ethnicity, and gender. We all bleed the same color- we all die- we all love and live on a tiny piece of rock that spins in a space larger than we can imagine. Even though sometimes we believe that there is nothing more outside our little farm in the Midwest or a large city full of thousands of people were we may live-we are all in this together- we are all a part of a greater whole. Engle and Virgil knew this and their lives and deaths serve as a reminder to us all that we are all connected regardless of what seem to be significant differences. In life, so are they now in death- just a few yards from one another- buried in the same cemetery. |
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