I heard it from a handful of people…“I can’t do another one of these.”
It was November and this was the fifth or sixth wake they had attended. But this one was very different. It was for Cara Liander, a truly innovative and industrious human being, whom you might have read about in the Advance.
I wasn’t close to Cara although I had worked with her on several Staten Island Shakespeare productions and she was my daughter-in-law’s maid of honor. Many dear friends had formed a close relationship with her through Cara’s various organizations. Cara’s reach was wide and took in many kinds of communities. The theater community was the one I belonged to.
03/19/2012 – Cara Liander for Health & Fitness.advance
The day we found out, her “theater family” gathered at the Empire Outlets. Tears were shed, comfort given, stories shared. The gift was, now, we all walk around with each other’s memories. The two days of her wake were jammed with people. Theater people, musicians, friends from her Flagship Brewery days, community organizers, folks from the worlds of business. Everywhere you looked, you saw a friend’s face. And each was was etched with sorrow.
It is not hyperbole to say that Cara was the public face of Staten Island. More than just about anybody else I know, she exhibited what Lincoln called “our better angels.” She was kind and compassionate, she knew how to listen and when to give advice. She was passionate about the arts, especially theater, and passionate about life. That is why her loss at 41 so grates against the soul. That isn’t supposed to happen. Folks are supposed to live to ripe old ages, barring accidents or disease. But that seems to be happening less and less and all we are left with is questions without answers.
I was lucky enough to be working on two productions that week, one in tech and one in rehearsal. I say “lucky” because work keeps the mind from idling on “What if…” questions. Theater demands focus, discipline, collaboration. Theater asks much, but repays abundantly. Cara knew that.
Until that week, “the show must go on” was just a phrase from Shakespeare, often repeated to encourage one to persevere. But, it’s hard to do when you lose somebody special, someone you know you’ll never see the like of again. Still, persevere one must. “She would have wanted that,” someone said. I believe that to be true.
That Friday, Joan and I were honored to once again visit the Reformed Church of Huguenot Park to perform for a Friendsgiving Luncheon for the Forget Me Not group, spearheaded by the Reverend Terry Troia. We’d played there twice before and, each time, I am taken by the specialness of the place. There is a sacredness about it that, when mixed with music, creates community. The members were kind and receptive to the program we had cobbled together, a mixture of tunes from the 30’s, a couple of Rodgers & Hammerstein songs, and, of course, a few by the Beatles, one by the Stones and one by Joan’s “uncle,” Henry Nemo. The combination of the sacristy’s natural acoustics, the smiling faces before us and our gratefulness to just be there made it a magical afternoon. I said to Joan “There needs to be more places like this,” and we both wondered why there weren’t.
Of course, magic and sacredness can’t be found everywhere. They emanate from the heart. Terry gave us a brief history of the church, how it was founded so the Huguenots would have a safe space to worship, away from the persecution that hounded them. She told us of Marie Durand, imprisoned for 38 years in a tower, who scratched the word ‘RESISTER” on her prison wall with a knitting needle. It is difficult to gaze upon the stone, the wood, hear the echoes and the history and not marvel at the resilience of the human spirit.
Thomas Paine wrote “These are the times that try men’s souls.” Charles Dickens began “A Tale Of Two Cities” with the classic “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”
I suppose both phrases are applicable to any time period. We often feel that we are living through the best and the worst of times. Of course, neither of those men could have predicated the lives that we now lead: glued to a pocket device that contains all the knowledge of the known world, being transported by cars, trains, buses and planes. Having a system of government that works most of the time but often fails spectacularly. Seeing the worst that humanity can inflict upon each other and the best in the offered hand, the shared bread, the quiet prayer. And each person has a different barometer for best and worst. What might seem like a minor irritation to one becomes a bothersome obstacle to another the same way one facing greater challenges seems to smile and grace through the most trying time imaginable. It takes heart and grit. It takes purpose and discipline.
It takes vision and the tools to accomplish the impossible until it is done.
Cara knew that. Those that knew her knew that. I read somewhere that, when a loved one passes, the best way to honor them is to emulate those characteristics that you found admirable. Some have a strong spirit, a boundless energy, a soul that sees the good when others see nothing but bad. Cara had a sense of purpose and determination that I have not found in many other people, besides the aforementioned Rev. Troia. That was her gift. And we honor it by trying our best to make the world a safer, happier, more grace-filled place. A sacred space, a refuge.
Maybe that’s how to create more places like the Huguenot Church. It starts in your heart.
Hold those magnificent grey heads high. Excelsior!
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