May 9th
Isah Newton, July 4th, 1977 / photo © Stephen Newton
“Those that ‘Hobgoblin’ call you, and ‘Sweet Puck’,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck.
Are you not he?”Thou speak'st aright: I am that merry wanderer of the night.”
—William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
[A Midsummer Night’s Dream was Isah’s favorite play. This verse was highlighted in his copy of the play.]
Of all the holidays, my son Isah loved the Fourth of July the most. Perhaps because July 2nd was his birthday. When he was old enough he would order fireworks months in advance and spend hours planning our fireworks displays, which became yearly events for close friends to enjoy.
Like his sister Hinde, Isah was born at home. After a prolonged labor, he delivered face down into my welcoming hands at two in the morning. His name was waiting for him long before he was conceived—taken from a box of yes! bananas, which sat upside down at a fruit market so that the brand name spelled: !sah.
His gift for mathematics was evident early on. He used to hold his head and ask me to stop the numbers. By second grade he was placed in the gifted program because he was already doing high level math and complained of being bored.
He was a prodigious athelete and earned a black belt in Tae Kwon Do at 14, after training from the age of six. He played lacrosse, tennis and soccer. He was good at everything he tried. I taught him to play chess when he was four, but he outclassed me after only a few games. I took his brilliance for granted. I had no idea what it must have been like for him to live in such a cerebral realm. I wish I had. He must have been lonely.
Isah was kind. He was loyal to friends, protected those who were not as strong, loved deeply and suffered greatly.
He left us after a life that lasted only 10,538 days. He died alone in his apartment on May 9, 2002. Twenty-two years ago. I often feel him near me. I hope he is waiting to greet me when it’s my turn. I know if he can, he will be there when I am delivered face down into his welcoming arms.
Isah and I sat on a bench beside a Florida lake for this final photograph. I still remember the day. We were so happy. After he died, I often sat on the same bench beside the lake, not so much to grieve, but to celebrate what we shared. The lake became a sacred spot for me and gave me peace.
The last time I was there, the sun was setting, the lake was silent, its surface like a mirror, when a great white egret glided a foot from the water, its exact double reflected in the water beneath it. I realized at that moment that everything was already perfect.