Measuring a life by its meaning

For a split second, until I was able to take a better look at the name, I actually thought my cousin had been killed in action. I felt my heart drop to the floor, as I contemplated his wife and two young children and my aunt and uncle dealing with this tragedy. In the end, it was just a false alarm; for my family.

For another family however, this past weekend was mired by the loss of a beloved son and brother who will never be coming back home.

Perhaps because he's from Montreal, he's Greek, and went to the very same high school in Laval where I, as a child, attended Saturday Greek classes, I felt his loss a bit more than the other poor Canadian soldiers who've lost their lives in Afghanistan. Of course, his death is no more tragic than anyone else's, but when it hits close to home, it resonates more.

By all accounts, Chris Karigiannis loved what he did. His mother and brothers spoke eloquently about how strongly Chris felt he was making a difference for Taliban-oppressed women and children in Afghanistan. According to his brother, Chris wouldn't have wanted to do anything else with his life, and while that may be cold comfort to a mother who longs to hold her son in her arms, there must be some small solace in that fact.

Irrelevant of the reasons Canadian soldiers are in Afghanistan and whether you, as an individual, believe in those reasons, the undisputed fact remains: how many people live to be 80 or 90 years old and can claim to have loved their work or life as much as Chris did? How many waste their existence away, wallowing in mediocrity, discontent and afraid to truly become what they were destined to be?

"We could all be artists and athletes and heroes. We could all care for orphans and widows and visit the sick. We could all be catchers in the rye, each in his or her own unique and particular way, announcing the creator's intentions at our births. We could be our best. But we are not. Our only excuse is ignorance. We are unaware of our capabilities. (…) We sell ourselves short and our lives as well. When our horizons narrow, our goals do also. We settle for a comfortable passing grade. We groove through life, effortlessly passing our days. But the intensity of our art --our life-- and therefore our joy, passes us by as well. But that is part of the bargain..." Written by writer and running coach George Sheehan, this is one of my all-time favourite quotes.

In length, Chris Karigiannis' life may have been short. In intensity and joy, it was probably worth a number of lifetimes. We should all be so lucky…