Today is the birthday of
someone priceless to me
someone who I believe
would ask...

that people
mingle more
reach across the boundaries
of barriers, whether of class, color, sex,
religion or language

...laugh aloud more
forget to fight,
remember to get in
a little more "churching" maybe
as he called it, when he was a boy.

His name's from the Scottish word
for church

someone who was
down home country
and true blue
(blessed with big brown eyes)
and just breaking into adulthood,

the one in the family
who always helped
decorate and serve
the birthday cakes
for everyone else
(especially his little cousins,
my children).

In senior high, Kirk was the student
who'd cross the hall
just to say hello
to the caretaker.

At the Italian restaurant
he'd just learned to wait tables
fine dining style (and looked forward to the day
he'd be of age to serve the liquor and the beers)
and often put in a good word
for his friends
to land jobs too, which they did.

His favorite bonus there
was bringing home
the meals the owners insisted on, after his hours
the wife there who liked him to call her "Mama,"
still considering him a growing boy
and knowing how he loved to share
his bounty with his folks.

He was the type who kept the cool for many
around him, especially those he loved
when tense moments built up between people.
He was always the diplomat,
saw no need for trivial fights,
a bit of a clown
magician and juggler
but quite disappointed that the magic set
complete with black top hat
we gave him as a child,
taught him in the instructions
that the tricks were fake.

He was also convinced
that the Santa radio reports
his Uncle Ernie, my husband, tuned in to
and hooked Kirk to follow,
the plane lights being the sleigh,
were gospel truth
when he was little.

He recovered from the realities
with resilience
just as he did over his first heartbreak
from a fourteen year-old girl up at Sharbot Lake
(though I'll never forget his face when he
ran up the wooden walkway from the beach
after he discovered she'd left)
those brown eyes tearing, and I,
the aunt he was away from home with, searched for
the words to say.
But soon, he himself
went on to win and then, without intention
break a few hearts.

An athlete who liked to share
his glory by passing to his teammates
when he could score alone,
peace-lover
rescuer of wildlife and caregiver
of pets and small fry (human or not),
he could never figure out
what temper was for.
Always involved in competitive sports,
he learned a tip and shared it with me
(I fall back on it to this day), "don't worry, there'll always be
the ones who are better at something than you
but then, the ones who are worse, too."

Someone who wouldn't dream of
being called perfect
or a saint,
but who seemed to always get caught
for the rare little or big slips-ups he made.


Kirk was the kind
hard-pressed to know anyone as enemy
and rare was the acquaintance not moved
by the experience of sharing his company.

Like the pied piper
he led his young cousins
or carried them on his shoulders
down the trails to the beach
his positive influence evident
to this day

but then, he had his own magic...

this someone priceless
named Kirk Matthew
who came to us June l9, l971,
his mom only l9 herself

a blessing for l8 years here
today he would be 33

my first nephew
the first infant relative
I ever held
(I was so scared when she placed him
in my arms, at almost eighteen myself.

That last summer when he camped with us
(a bit of luck, now he had work so often
or soccer and hockey games to play in
his traditional camping visits getting tricky)
as he still liked to help us set up
and be with our son and daughter
we found a few moments alone one day together
at the campsite, and
he looked at me, his "old" aunt
in her thirties, and confessed
"I'm getting on too. I don't want to turn old, soon."
That year he told his mom
he sort of wanted to be l8 forever.

As the eldest child in all the family
much the senior to the cousins
(who spied on him with the pretty girls
and giggled or scolded from the bushes)
he needn't have worried about old age
it never happened,
for him

instead, an accident
that Thanksgiving,
fate and an error in decision
to accept a late drive from a friend
who it turned out, lacked respect for the safety
and lives of his passengers,
resulted in robbing us all
especially my sister,
(and several other families),

and making Kirk
l8 forever.

But he's never too far gone
from us.

At Sharbot Lake
when this family finally
faced camping again
knowing he'd hate it if
we quit,
we returned to the same site
two years later,
I carved his initials
in the same old picnic table

and walked down to the wooden steps to the shore
listening for him on the breeze.

He was, is
as if by magic
everywhere again.

06/19/2002