This Day In History. . .

September 19. An important day to remember.

In 1356, the English Army defeated the Fench at the Battle of Poitier during the Hundred Years War.

In 1881, President James A. Garfield died from wounds suffered after an assasination attempt.

In 1985, a terrible earthquake shattered Mexico City resulting in tens of thousands of dead and injured.

Septemeber 19, 1778, the Continental Congress passed the first budget of the United States.

On September 19th, in New Zealand, the Electoral Act of 1893 is passed giving women the right to vote.

And on September 19, 1995, two goobers from Oregon founded International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

But all of these days pale in comparison to the afternoon of September 19, 1970, when on a sunny and warm Saturday afternoon, a slim and dark skinned man with neatly coiffed and Brylcreemed hair poked his head into a hectic delivery room at St. Dominics Hospital in Jackson, Mississippi and declared, "If y'all don't deliver that damn baby right here and now goddammit, I'm gonna miss the goddamn Ole Miss football game! Hurry up!"

And there I was. . .and life has never been the same.

This year, I celebrate my birthday in sadness. My sister's first husband, Tony, passed away yesterday morning from complications of cancer. He was too damned young to die, but some people are not spared from the rueful unfairness of life.

Tony never knew he had cancer until it was too late. He was driving down the road several months ago with one of his sons and began to experience excruciating pain in his side. The pain was so great that he had to pull over and lie down in someone's driveway. An ambulance ride and multiple tests later it was confirmed that he had tumors in his adrenal glands. Further tests indicated tumors in the lung, brain and colon.

Chemotherapy and radiation treatments took quite the toll, as they always do, but Tony trudged on. Surgery was performed on the tumor at the base of his brain and gamma knife treatments began on the other two tumors in the frontal lobes. The cancer was stunted, but never in remission, and it was simply a struggle to live each day.

The cancer at the base of the brain returned, this time in spades. Three tumors replaced the one removed by earlier surgery. Another surgery later, a shell of a man remained. Tony was just never the same. He had most of his motor skills, but memory and emotion was a challenge. He was constantly convinced that he had already eaten or had something to drink and his family had to find creative ways to trick him into taking another bite or sip of Ensure.

Tony knew he was going when the end came and he passed with a smile on his face according to his wife. I know that Tony fought as hard as he could, but the reality was he was already defeated before the fight began. Tragic.

I saw Tony before he was diagnosed with his dreadful terminal illness. He looked healthy to the eye and was heavier than I had ever seen him before. It's hard to imagine that he was being eaten up inside when I saw him, but I like to remember him as how I saw him that day. Smiling, laughing, in a good humor and well.

I guess the lesson learned here is to love each life, day and event because whether in a milli-second or a long haul trudge, life always ends. Our duty, the ones left behind, is to continue living for those gone and to take our lives, the good parts and the bad, and use them for the betterment of all of us.

Life is complex, challenging, unpredictable and oftentimes, quite unfair. But take the time, make the effort to make something of your life. Give a part of your life to someone else. Share it, reveal it, and revel in the beauty of our world together because one day your eyes will close, your mind will fall silent and your heart will finally rest.

Make your mark while you can. It's your only chance.