Deep Thought Thursday

Yinzers,

Hello, goodbye. The higher you fly the more it seems like you come crashing down. It is now 4:23 am and I am at one of my other dear friend and fellow Blackhawk ’06 baseball player’s houses. I am joined by my best friend from high school, another ‘06er and two other girls with whom I graduated from high school. One of these ladies was the long time girlfriend of Tyler Marburger, the wonderful young man who passed away this past weekend. There is but one problem. This is way too surreal. Today’s deep through Thursday comes from a lecture by the great sociology professor at Penn State, Frank Clemente.

In each of our long walks in life, there are chapters of our own life stories. The tragedy in all of our cases is that the chapter entitled “Tyler Marburger” has come to an end. With the viewing on Wednesday, Tyler dressed in his full high school uniform, and the service today, the ever so influential chapter involving Tyler has come to a close. For most of us, we still have words to be said, even though the words escape our tongues. Whether it has to do with baseball or life in general, the proverbial cliff-hanger ending consumed us all. This was not how it was supposed to end. I wish I could rewrite the story with our boy beating the odds and coming out on top like he was supposed to, the only one of us, the strongest and greatest of us making it to the big show, like it was supposed to be written.

Sadly, that is not the case. This is not one of the experiences in which we lean on each other in hopes of getting through. Instead, this is one of the situations in which everything changes. There will be no “getting through” this one. Sometimes in life, you get thrown an 87 mph slider that you just have to deal with, with no chance in hell of sitting back and taking it to right field. In such a situation, you have to take the strike as the batter and hope it is not strike 3. As much as we want to swing this whole situation away, we have to take the pitch and make the most the rest of the at-bat. From here on out it is not a matter of “getting through,” but a matter of “getting by.” As the chapter of Tyler Marburger comes to a close in all of our lives, we look at life differently; not as a group that is coping, but as a living, evolving group of lives.

For myself, I can no longer use the personal pronouns of “Al D, Ty, Bable, Justin and us” as a complete term. Even when alluding to the fact that all of the 2006 baseball players were to be pall bearers, I found myself saying “Al D, Ty, Bable and I will be pall bearers.” Something as simple as a vocabulary slip can show perspective on what someone means to you in your life. That was OUR crew. Alan Denman, Tyler Marburger, Mathias Bable, Jason Brognano, Brian Brognano and Justin Acosta were the nucleus around which our class’ baseball team was centered. The most difficult things are sometimes the simplest. Something as simple as mentioning our group of friends, without the personal pronoun of “Ty” will be one of the most difficult things I have had to do in my entire life. “This is the most tragic event of my life,” I was told by Barb Denman at the funeral home.
As I reflected upon Barb’s words, yes, this is the most tragic event in all of our lives. Growing up, we all wanted to be professional baseball players, imitating our favorite players’ batting stances in waffle ball games; name dropping the likes of Ken Griffey, Jr., Jeff Bagwell and other prominent stars of our childhood. One idea was consistent with all of us, however. Tyler was the one to do it all. Of all of us players, Tyler was to be the one who would make it to the big show. In a world of imagination and pretending, he was our reality. Perhaps that is why this week has seemed so surreal. We still refuse to believe that our all-star is really gone. Our reality was supposed to be a full recovery followed by a legendary collegiate career and a contract. Reality bites, sometimes.

Sometimes it takes something big and life changing to put life back in perspective. Through his sickness, Tyler wanted to be our second pair of eyes. He watched over us both from his home and from afar, keeping in touch through an intermediary, whether it was facebook, texts or simply having his mother park the family car at a distance. The perspective is that no matter what we all did as individuals, we had our biggest fan following us all of the time. A secret admirer that preferred to be unseen on the edge of the picture, yet still was the centerpiece of the artwork. “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder” is the old saying. Well, it applies to your perspective on life as well. Although on a narrower street, it would seem that we all walked alone. Believe it or not, there was a tail trailing all of us the entire time, our eyes just did not venture to the rearview mirror enough, it seems.

As I stated before, this is not something that all of us will “get through.” Rather than reading on in this chapter of life, the book has been rewritten. Sometimes we run around our track in life, jumping hurdles and mooching off each other for a water break. Today, we have no hurdles. We have a detour. Rather than mooching water bottles, we lean on each other for guidance. Do we know where this detour leads? Absolutely not. What we do know is that from here on out, there is no coping, no solace, no way of jumping the proverbial wall. We can but forge ahead, the way Tyler would want us to. Even though we may not get past this, we will use it as Tyler would want: to become closer, better and stronger as friends. Like I said on Marburger Monday, Tyler was one of the most humble superheroes anyone could ever meet. It would be his will for us to band together.

It is surreal and when we choose between reality and madness…it’s either sadness or euphoria. We celebrate Tyler and all of the great and inspirational ways in which he has touched each and every one of our lives. Whether we choose the reality that Tyler is gone, or the madness that our brains deceive us into thinking he is merely on vacation, we come together to celebrate his life, accomplishments and friendship. “That’s my baby boy” is what I always yelled when he belted a home run. The sadness is sour, but we are all truly blessed with the euphoria of Tyler’s friendship.

4ever,
B Brog