I met Ben Vereen one early morning outside the Lincoln airport. Well, we didn't really meet. I just happened to see him crossing the parking lot and hollered "You're Ben Vereen!" as though he was struggling to remember that fact.
What is it about the famous and the dead that brings out our desire to pronounce our tenuous connections to them? Sure, among a very select population of people, I knew that my Ben Vereen moment would impress, but I don't think it's bragging rights we're seeking so much as it is a reminder that, in this vast collection of human souls, somehow, you and I have breathed the same air. And I was paying attention.
Lest we dismiss these intersections--however brief--one needs only scan Trinity McDonald's Facebook page to realize how important it is to acknowledge our moments together. When I heard the heartbreaking news of Trinity's death, I was one of hundreds who scoured my memories of her, locating glimpses of middle-school volleyball games, played out in a dimly-lit gym, my folding chair not far from her mother's. I have been deeply moved by the tributes that others have posted on her page, love notes whispered to a silenced friend.
Because of those tributes--those connections--I am able grieve for real people, from the daughter who could not find a way to face the weight of her sadness to the parents, siblings and friends who wonder how it is they will get out of bed today. Like well-written characters or moving lyrics, our tenuous and not-so-tenuous connections with others open us up, and we find ourselves formed and changed by these people whose paths have crossed with ours.
No, it is not bragging rights that compel us to point out our connection to the famous and the dead. Rather, it is life itself--the spark--that primal desire to right our own ships sailing upon rough waters that keeps us reaching out for common threads.
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