Asa Hill, a 7-year-old boy who loved to sing and dance, wanted his parents to marry.
This past Monday that wish came true…in a service with 1,100 people and with hundreds more overflowing onto the church lawn where sound systems were set up so they could hear the service.
Monday also happened to be the day of Asa’s funeral.
Last Thursday Asa was alive when he was pulled out of a burning car…a horrific accident involving six cars in a chain-reaction collision on the I-190 in New York.
But because of extensive head injuries, he died the next night. And while holding his lifeless son in his arms at the hospital, Amilcar Hill was moved to finally officially propose to Asa’s mother, Rahwa.
Amilcar and Rahwa, best friends since they were 15, had been together for almost half of their lives. After Asa was born, marriage had always been something that they considered but, according to Asa’s father, both felt that a wedding was “superficial and not necessary.”
Asa, however, was insistent that they make their union official.
“Asa really wanted us to do it, and every time he would ask us we would say, ‘Yes, we’ll get married,’ ” said Hill.
But the couple never did get around to figuring out the logistics for a ceremony.
“Rahwa was overwhelmed at that moment [when Amilcar was holding Asa] and just looked at me. When the family sat down to plan the funeral service, she said ‘Let’s get married.’ And everyone broke down at the table,” he said.
The shaken Buffalo, New York, community turned out in large numbers at Asa’s funeral; They wanted to support his parents and were pleasantly surprised when the couple ended the service with a wedding ceremony, a fulfillment of their son’s wish.
The marriage took place after a service filled with African drums, dancing, sermons and family and friends sharing memories of Asa, all in celebration of his life. When the wedding was announced, there were shocked cheers and applause from those in the church pews.
“We wanted it to be a surprise,” Amilcar said. “We knew it would be a joyous moment. You could see how it lifted them, and we figured, why not make it a surprise at the end.”
Asa, described as a beacon of love by his father, had his organs harvested so that others might live…a kidney gifted to someone in WNY, his heart to a five-year-old boy in North Carolina and his liver to a 10-month-old in NYC.
“It lifts my heart,” said his mother, Rahwa, “that my son has given the gift of life and I pray that the recipients grow to be healthy, strong individuals and continue the legacy of bringing love, joy and healing to the world.”
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.”
~Washington Irving (American essayist, historian and author; 1783-1859)
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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When my sister and I were shopping last month we came across a fantastic gift idea at a store called Celestial Awakening…2-inch tear bottles of clear or colored glass encased with metalwork and finished in gold, nickel, pewter, antique copper, silver, or brass and with matching display trays or metal/mirrored trays…tear bottles inside mini domes…and tiny tear bottle/vial pendants.
Never having seen them before, I had no idea tear bottles (symbolic gifts of deep emotion) have been a treasured gift for three millennia! –A gift given to another to honor and cherish another person.
There are legends abounding in traditions and cultures around the world. In ancient Roman, Egyptian and Middle Eastern societies, mourners captured their tears and buried them with loved ones to show respect and affection.
During the 19th century Victorian era mourners would allow their tears to fall in decorative bottles. When they evaporated bereavement would end, but the bottle remained as a token of eternal devotion.
And while some bottles held real tears of joy, sorrow or forgiveness, others symbolized these feelings.
Today tear bottles are given to honor the tears of life passages, transitions and rituals…to strengthen friendships, to mend relationships, to ask forgiveness, to show sympathy, to remember, to honor, to heal and to celebrate joy and unconditional love.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Having parents in their late eighties who’ve been married for 67 years, I can appreciate the following short story about getting older:
A 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud man, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o’clock, with his hair fashionably combed and shaved perfectly, even though he is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today.
His wife of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary. After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, he smiled sweetly when told his room was ready.
As he maneuvered his walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of his tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on his window.
”I LOVE it,” he stated with enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy.
“Mr. Jones, you haven’t seen the room; just wait.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” he replied.
“Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn’t depend on how the furniture is arranged. It’s how I arrange my mind. I already decided to love it.
“It’s a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice;
I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do.
Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open, I’ll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I’ve stored away. Just for this time in my life.
Old age is like a bank account. You withdraw from what you’ve put in. So, my advice to you would be to deposit a lot of happiness in the bank account of memories!”
Thank you for your part in filling my memory bank. I am still depositing.
Remember the five simple rules to be happy:
- Free your heart from hatred.
- Free your mind from worries.
- Live simply.
- Give more.
- Expect less.
~Author unknown
Thanks for passing this wonderful story on to me, Marlene!
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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Before my brother and sister from eastern Canada arrived for a visit in August, I asked them if they wanted to go spelunking (caving).
Yes…not too far from where I live is a great cave…a subterranean wonderland having tight crawl spaces (face and bum/back in the dirt crawling), crevices, extraordinary natural calcite sculptures (soda straws, bacon strips, stalactites), and even a glacier-fed stream and waterfall!
After driving 10 km up a wet, narrow and steep logging road, we hiked another 800 meters through the bush. Then, having donned our hardhats equipped with lights and battery pack, our jackets, old clothes and a sturdy pair of gloves, we took a deep breath and carefully entered the cave with a group of about 5 or 6 other people…including a guide.
Our extraordinary experience was made even more remarkable by the fact that one of the older women in our group had MS (multiple sclerosis). And although we moved a little slower because of her and assisted her along the way, she completed the hour-long adventure! The only thing she opted out of was crawling through the narrowest portion of the cave on her bum…she waited for everyone to complete that.
Her tenacity and sense of adventure is proof that you don’t have to give up on your dreams and hopes and wishes just because you encounter obstacles and difficulties in life!
I say, “Go for it!”
And you can bet that I’ll be back to the cave to complete the more challenging (crawling through tight areas and into dark holes for longer stretches) 3-hour tour (yes, we joked about the 3-hour tour of TV’s 1960’s Gilligan’s Island show).
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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No one is in charge of your happiness except you.
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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During my recent trip to New York City I visited the reconstruction site in Lower Manhattan where the twin towers of the World Trade Center stood until the September 11, 2001 attacks.
What a site to behold…even today…almost eight years after those coordinated suicide attacks using the hijacked jet airliners!
But it was en route to the site that I literally experienced chills and goose bumps.
Surprisingly, it seemed as if the souls of those innocent victims from that terrifying disaster were all around me. The air was infused with emotion and I could taste it!
This was something I’ve never experienced before…something very powerful…and I felt caught off guard.
The sheer enormity of the tragedy was overwhelming and I could feel the hairs at the back of my neck and on my arms standing upright.
I was brought to tears.
Yes, I couldn’t help but cry as I walked.
My husband also found the walk emotional. He had received a Canadian Association of Broadcasters award for Community service after he spearheaded a community initiative (from our hometown) that raised $165,000 in 10 days to buy therapeutic talking bears for the children who lost their firefighter and EMT parents on 9-11. He then delivered the bears to New York and broadcast live from Ground Zero in October 2001.
Now, returning to the area, it was still an emotional experience for him.
While walking along that deserted bicycle/foot path on West Street, my husband and I encountered a long line of NYPD cars (with their logo “Courtesy Professionalism Respect” imprinted on the driver’s side passenger door). There were at least a hundred cars with lights flashing.
As we boldly approached one of the cars, the driver, an African-American officer, lowered his window while his female partner leaned closer to have a look at us.
“We were just wondering what was going on?” said my husband. “We’re from Canada.”
Turns out they were in the midst of an anti-terrorism drill to improve their response time to terrorist activities in the area. And beyond that of course, they couldn’t discuss their tactics and methods with us.
To those officers I’d like to say, “Thanks for your service and dedication!”
And to those innocent victims of 9/11, “May you rest in peace.”
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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While walking along the sidewalk in front of his church, our minister heard the intoning of a prayer that nearly made his collar wilt. Apparently, his 5-year-old son and his playmates had found a dead robin. Feeling that proper burial should be performed, they had secured a small box and cotton batting, then dug a hole and made ready for the disposal of the deceased.
The minister’s son was chosen to say the appropriate prayers and with sonorous dignity intoned his version of what he thought his father always said: “Glory be unto the Faaather, and unto the Sonnn, and into the hole he goooes.”
(I want this line used at my funeral!)
~Author Unknown
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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I have been battling cancer for several months. The support of friends and family is key to keeping morale up, but I feel more alone than ever.
I hardly hear from my friends.
When I pick up the phone to say, “Hello,” they say they haven’t called because they don’t want to disturb me. Or they say they are keeping track of me through ‘Mary’ but ‘Mary’ isn’t calling either. The burden of keeping in touch falls entirely on me.
It is hard to call people when you are at your lowest. You have no news to share other than your illness.
I want to tell people to please phone their friends and family members who are suffering. Just knowing you care enough to make them part of your life is worth a million pills.
When you are ill so many ask, “what can I do?”
This is what they can do!
~Lisa
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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It strikes me that for the first time in five decades of living I am now motherless, that I no longer have a Mum with whom to have tea.
This is not a thought that I can comprehend.
I am trying to leave the room but keep going back to her to give her one more kiss telling her I just can’t leave her. I know I must but it is the most difficult thing I have ever done.
How can she just be gone? The one constant in my life since the day I was born?
This is so surreal. My mind just cannot wrap around it.
Mum was with me when I drew my first breath and I had the honor of being with her when she took her last. The circle is completed and I have no regrets.
~Anonymous
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My friend
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