If I were a cat, I would have six lives remaining. That’s because I already used up three of them.
The first came early in my marriage when I pulled over to the side of the road after feeling the effects of wariness, only to have an erratic driver plow into me going 60 mph.
All I remember from that calamity were the fire fighters and police extracting me from a mangled vehicle, telling me how lucky I was to be alive. As for the driver, he, too, miraculously escaped death.
I would have left behind a wife and two young children at the time.
Not long after that, I had found my 2-year-old son submerged in water after closing on some lakefront property. He wandered off undetected and had fallen off the pier. The CPR I had learned in scouting truly came in useful in bringing him back.
You may have heard about my hiking experience on Mount Katahdin in Maine three years ago when a treacherous storm front engulfed the summit and caught us off guard.
My companion and I wound up spending the night on the trail, wet to the marrow and flirting with hypothermia. Had it been 10 degrees colder, this column may have come to you from the heavens above.
Anyway, we survived the ordeal by reaching the tree line for shelter and waiting out the darkness by studying the constellations, singing, keeping each other awake and yes, prayer, whether it was silent or oral.
The latest encounter occurred a month ago while traveling through Armenia. We were passing through the mountain range when sunny skies quickly turned to ominous clouds. All of a sudden, the air cut loose with the worst hailstorm I have ever encountered.
Hail the size of peas suddenly plummeted the road and encased our car in ice. We went into a terrible skid on the opposite side and wound up in a gully between two cement posts.
Had there been another vehicle in our path, it could have been fatal. By some quirk of fate, we also missed the barriers as we let out a sigh of relief. Not a scratch, either on us or our vehicle.
I must admit, I do believe in the power of prayer. An hour before, we had stopped inside a centuries-old church and lit a candle for prosperity and safekeeping. God must have heard us. I can only surmise that and owe my life to Him at least three times over these 68 years. And yes, I also believe in miracles.
They tell me you only live once. And if you do it correctly, you won’t need a second chance. Once is enough. We all must go sometime, whether we’re ready or not. Whether we have lived properly or had difficulty along the way.
Last Saturday, I attended a dance hosted by a Haverhill church. Some 200 people were in attendance and by the looks of it, everyone had a swell time.
A gentleman was seated at the door collecting tickets and greeting all comers, dressed in a suit that is very much his style given the fact that Kachadoor “Archie” Naroian was a 69-year-old attorney who never acted his age. Far younger.
As the evening wore on, Archie took to the dance floor and moved about like a teenager while his brother played the drums and others in his family sang and danced.
The very next morning, Archie was in church and had exchanged his suit for a choir vestment, very much the tradition on Sundays. He was chanting the vespers when all of a sudden, he slumped over a chair on the altar and lay there motionless as his family and friends looked on with disbelief.
An ambulance was called and Archie was pronounced dead at the hospital as the announcement sent icicles through the anxious congregation awaiting word.
Here one moment, gone the next. Dancing and singing in one instance and stricken in another. Life is so unpredictable, so very fragile.
I often think about what my grandmother once said about life and death—that since death is at the end of life, we’re all moving in the wrong direction.
Archie was a good man. He did pro bono legal work for the church and others who needed it. He was a GENTLEMAN in capital letters, well-groomed, unassuming, and helpful to his community.
He was involved in youth hockey and Little League, patronized his heritage to the hilt, and deserved to be one of those guys who would dwell forever.
It could have been me.
Tom Vartabedian
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