Even in my Grief, it's a Wonderful Life!

Written by Byron Williams

Friday, 05 February 2010

In the unbridled arrogance and ignorance of my adolescence, Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life” was never among my favorite movies.

Besieged by the affliction common to most teenagers known as immediate gratification, what was there to like? George Bailey, played by Jimmy Stewart, never got the opportunity to leave Bedford Falls in pursuit of his dreams to see the world.

Whether it was for the preservation of the Bailey Building and Loan Association or the excellent career opportunity that his younger brother Harry received, George Bailey was always putting his dreams of a life outside of Bedford Falls aside for some perceived greater good.

He couldn’t even go on his honeymoon because there was a run on the banks and the $2,000 he earmarked for the trip had to be used to save the Building and Loan from collapse.

But with misfortune and a guardian angel, George Bailey, seemingly at his end, became privy to his worth to the community and ostensibly the world he had yet to see.

Fortunately, my view of “It’s a Wonderful Life” has evolved over the years, but the last month allowed me to briefly walk in George Bailey’s shoes.

When I wrote the tribute to my father, who passed away recently, the outpouring of well wishes overwhelmed me. Though the privilege of writing a column hardly compares with feeling stuck in Bedford Falls, it is easy to become inoculated from the impact of one’s words.

The traditional communication from readers is reduced to “good column,” which means it affirms one’s own thinking and conversely a “bad column” means they disagree.

I have my list of usual suspects who can be counted on to predictably concur or dissent. I need only know who originated the email, given the topic of the column, to predict with high degree of accuracy the content of the correspondence.

But that predictable routine was broken several weeks ago as many of you took initiative to write or call upon learning of my father’s death.

I received correspondence from friends, members of the clergy, as well as members from the church where I serve as pastor, but those individuals who penned sympathies that I had never met I found particularly moving.
So many wrote to share not only their condolences but also the memories of their parents who had passed away. Since my father’s death was a suicide, I became part of unique fraternity that caused many unknown brothers and sisters to reach out with open arms to welcome me.

I received multiple e-mails that struck the following tone: “I seldom agree with your column, but this is bigger than politics. You and your family are in my prayers.”

It was clear many of you found my experience familiar, whether you lost your parents last year or 20 years ago. It was truly humbling to read that because of my work many of you felt compelled to reach out.

Though I had not reached the edge of despair like George Bailey nor did it require something as drastic as imagining a world without Byron Williams, but the generosity I received served to suggest there is an intrinsic value that I bring to the readers of this column without requiring the accompaniment of “Auld Lang Syne”.

Whether it was a heartfelt appeal from long-term readers and supporters of my column that only the balm of time can heal the gaping wound of losing a parent to dissenters taking a momentary leave of absence to share in my sorrow with the proviso that the gloves will once again be off next week, to those who were reading my column for the first time, it all served to warm my heart at a critical hour.

The hectic pace that often necessitates when a loved one passes has finally subsided. I plan to respond to everyone who sent condolences, until then, please accept this as a public acknowledgment of your kindness.

For each of you played the role of Clarence (George Bailey’s guardian angel) to remind me that it is indeed a wonderful life. That is a memory I shall always cherish. Thank you.