Life and Death

Life is passing. 

Scurrying and whizzing.

Like a buzz that flies out the window. 

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The imminence of death struck me today, without the death of anyone intimately close.

Other realizations came, too. They came and calmly whispered to me on a slow-moving Sunday. 

And now I’m going to share.

I’m going to write to you what was whispered to me.

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Stan Musial and Tamar Kaplan. 

Do you know these names?

They are names I want to hug. 

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Stan the Man, you probably know. He was a baseball legend, and more importantly to St. Louis, he was a symbol of Cardinal culture. Faithful and loyal - to his city, to his team, and to his family. The great commentator, Bob Costas, says that he was just “a genuinely decent guy.”

But there was no mourning here in Ecuador, only a pensiveness that led me to think.

And then reflect.

And then go about my day.

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Unlike Stan Musial, however, I danced with Tamar Kaplan. 

In fact, she was the first girl that I danced Salsa with in Ecuador. I remember it clearly - the Salsa Studio, the Plaza Foch, the life and movement of happy Americans in downtown South America. We danced all night, quite energetically, quite terribly. 

At that point in my Salsa career, I was better at eating it than dancing to it. And Tamar, well . . . I think it's a good indication that she thought I was amazing.

Tamar, like all pigeon-toed people, was hilarious. I remember her singing Flo-rida's "Apple Bottom Jeans" on a bus at 1:00 A.M. I remember her unashamedly falling asleep at a restaurant, with her forehead stamped directly onto her unserved plate. I remember her confidence, her bubbliness, her unmistakable presence in groups.

All these things made Tamar's death particularly difficult to understand and accept.

The newspaper read:

“On January 6, 2013, just before midnight, CMC junior Tamar Kaplan passed away due to injuries resulting from a car accident while traveling in Bolivia. Kaplan and her close friend and classmate, Haley Patoski ’14, were touring Bolivia in a Land Rover after their semesters abroad when they got into an accident that left Kaplan in critical condition.”

“Late on January 6, Kaplan’s family released the following journal entry by way of the CaringBridge website: “Dear Friends, Tamar never regained consciousness, and passed away peacefully just before midnight on January 6th. Her dad was with her. Thank you for all your support and love, Maya, Danny, Liat, and Netta.”

This photo was taken on my birthday, in Canoa, a beach city in Ecuador. Tamar (pink jacket) is third from the right in the back row. Glued to her side is her best friend, Claire Ryan (white shirt),

What does Tamar’s death mean?

Does it even have a meaning?

Does it have to mean anything?

I keep coming back to the fact that I knew her. We weren’t best friends, but I knew her. One of the smiliest study abroad students that I knew died in a freak accident in South America.

It felt like death sat down next to me.

Like it crossed its legs.

Like it had made itself comfortable. 

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Katerina and Maria.

Do you know these names?

They are names I want to hug and kiss. 

I don't know what Stan Musial's death means, much less Tamar's, but the pain of their loss has brought great urgency to life here. To put away the unimportant stuff and live as I should. To love my new Ecuadorian neighbors and enjoy every minute with my new host family.

And most importantly.
Most obviously.
To cultivate an appreciation for the people that I love at home. 

To my family and friends: I miss you.

Thanks for reading.