Whenever I see Salvador Dali’s The
Persistence of Memory, I find myself longing for just one more day with
someone I’ve never met.
Bryan
Thomas Palmer was born on February 18, 1992, completing a set of four
brothers and the lives of his loving parents. Maybe it’s the ants in the painting that make
me think of the Palmers; hard working, active, focused, together.
Bryan Thomas Palmer passed away in his sleep on August 2,
2004, forever altering the lives of his family and, to put it selfishly,
depriving the rest of us from getting to experience what others miss every day.
It could also be the clocks; clearly time plays a huge role
in the enormity of the impact. Most
losses are strictly measured in time; it’s been nineteen years since my
grandfather died. For Bryan it’s been more than numbers: it’s been
seasons and concerts and bands and homecomings and now, it will be his high
school graduation.
Maybe Bryan
is the clocks. Stopped in the middle of a task that everyone
had assumed would be constant, present.
No, his brothers are the clocks. The two silver pieces may seem similar but
their numbers are uniquely theirs. The
eldest, the gold piece, looking like neither but sharing part of both. All three without a chain: the thing which
binds them, completes their purpose. All
three keep the number eight to themselves; preserving it from analysis and
dissection; protecting their little brother.
It could be the entire painting. One closed watch solidly preserved while the
other three struggle to keep from slipping away; a family tree chopped off, no
longer growing but still able to support the weight of those who remain. Numbers and ants and insects a reminder that
time goes on, work must still be done, and life’s little annoyances still
challenge us, even when surrounded by a larger tragedy. These things must be endured because one day
we too will leave the shadows and cross the water into the light where such
pain doesn’t exist and we are free.
Maybe it’s just a sad painting, one that seems to be missing
some final piece that would allow us a glimpse into Dali’s genius. We need that piece; it torments us by
promising an understanding of all the uncertainty we’re faced with. We need that piece; it could bridge the
reflective waters that separate our sometimes surreal lives from the solid
banks which await us in the distance.
We need that piece; but not as much as the clocks do.
The colors have dried; there’s no going back now. I will just have to remain thankful for what
I do get to see, for the images that remain identifiable despite fighting
against conditions that I can’t understand, nevertheless endure; the images
which show strength and resiliency unlike any I’ve ever witnessed.
I will just have to remain thankful for the clocks.
I have seen many families and friends experience tragedies
in my lifetime, but the way the Palmers have responded is inspiring. Not only do they preserve Bryan in their
hearts, they use his memory as a battle cry for spending the precious minutes
we have doing the most good; helping others.
Please consider donating to the Bryan Palmer Fund to help ensure they
are able to realize their goal of giving out eight college scholarships on
this, the year he would have graduated high school.
This post a collaborative effort by The Baltimorons
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