The Greatest Superpower

Clark Austin Garrett


September 19, 1989 – July 27, 2010

***

In the summer of 1989, just after I graduated from high school, I went to Nashville to stay with my sister Carla. She was expecting a baby boy that September, and I would be starting college before he was born. I just had to spend some time with her before my life would get so busy.

While I was there one day, she left to run a quick errand by car while I waited at her house. I thought I heard her return, and I expected her to come inside right away. When she didn’t, I looked out the window, and there she was, big and pregnant, trying to push her car out of a ditch by herself. I ran outside, yelling at her to quit before she got hurt, but by the time I got to her, she already had the car part of the way out of the ditch. It was amazing, like she had sudden superhero strength.

I know that incident had nothing to do with why she named that precious baby boy Clark. But his whole life, Clark Austin Garrett identified with Clark Kent, and he grew up loving Superman. His room was full of Superman posters and collectibles. His first car had Superman floor mats. He had a little pug dog named Lois (as in Lois Lane). Superman was his nick name. He even had a Superman tattoo. And at his funeral this week, dozens of his friends honored him by showing up in Superman T-shirts.

It turns out that Clark had more in common with Superman than just a name. He had some pretty amazing powers too.

Clark always tried to make other people feel safe and comfortable, and like Superman, he was very protective of the innocent. He wore no cape, but he was cloaked in a peaceful, friendly presence that carried him everywhere he went. He couldn’t leap over tall buildings, but he could overcome prejudice and find reason to forgive people when their ignorance blocked their understanding. He couldn’t fly, but he did jump out of an airplane once. And he may not have had x-ray vision, but he had gorgeous piercing blue eyes and the miraculous ability to look deep inside people and see the good in them, no matter how deeply that good was hidden.

Clark certainly didn’t have a secret identity. He was open and sincere. But he did have many moments of self-doubt that he kept hidden from others, and sometimes he was lonely. He struggled to balance his own ambitions with his fears of failure. Like any of us, he was still trying to figure out who he was.

There was always something very different and special about him, like he had the wisdom of the ages in his young body. When Clark was a tiny thing he used to tell elaborate stories about when he was an old man living by the railroad tracks. He’d call it “my other one life”. He was so convincing in his details that it was easy to imagine that he actually might have lived before in another body and time.

His was an unusually gentle and nurturing spirit. Clark was twelve years old when my son Luke was born. And at the risk of crossing the “too much information” point, I have to tell you that he actually filmed the birth. He was fascinated by the whole process, and having a doctor for a dad, he was not as squeamish as some. He fell in love with Luke, and as soon as he could hold his new cousin, he did. Never before or since have I seen a young boy so attentive to a baby. Not just that, but he was especially sensitive to my then two-year-old daughter Claire’s having to share her spot at the center of her parents’ universe. He was determined to give her as much attention as the new baby so that she wouldn’t feel left out.

He made both of my kids feel special and valued. Throughout the years he has spent hours playing with them and reading to them. He made a point to remember all of the cute little things they ever said or did when they were small, even some of the things I had forgotten. He often quoted them, and just recently on the phone he asked to talk to them, just to hear their voices. I have so many pictures of him holding them. They adored him. We all did.

Clark was so much fun. He was adorable and sweet and funny. As a baby he ate sand on the beach, just to try it. As a toddler, he said cute things like “cragee” for “crazy” and “doot” for “fruit.” And every time we’d get in the car, he’d yell, “seat butt”, which is how he pronounced “seatbelts”, to remind us all to buckle up.

He was immensely talented in so many ways. He shined with a light to which people were attracted like moths. He just made folks happy.

At my wedding in 1995 (he was five years old) he danced so enthusiastically and so amazingly well that people gathered around just to watch him get down and boogie. At a friend’s wedding recently, my son Luke did the same thing. We told him he was like his cousin Clark, which made him very proud.

Once on a cruise when Clark was about six years old, his parents found him on a stage telling knock-knock jokes at a comedy open mic night in a room full of adults. The audience was cracking up.

Clark really lived. He swam with dolphins. He learned to boogie board. He wrote stories. He learned magic tricks. He did great impersonations. He loved old rock and roll and movies. He adored turtles. He loved sweet potato casserole.

He was sometimes messy and scattered. He once fell into the DuPage River while visiting my parents in Illinois. He often lost things. But I think that helped him to be a person who let things go. He was so generous. And he had so much to give.

Clark was unlike anyone else I ever knew. He was, without exaggeration, the most humbly spiritual young person I have ever known. He went to church even when the rest of us stayed behind, and his bible was very important to him. He prayed often and in diverse ways. Sometimes he would courageously ask the family to gather with him to pray, and even if it was uncomfortable at first, it always made us feel better. Last December in Texas, he said a beautiful prayer over my brother Mark’s deathbed that brought a measure of comfort to our family during that horrible time. His presence was peaceful and positive.

He deeply respected his Native American heritage, and he learned a great deal about it. He attended many powwows and gatherings. Just before he died, he attended a Cheyenne Sun Dance ceremony in Oklahoma, which is a ritual honoring the earth and its cycles of birth, life, death and rebirth. There he dug fire pits in the hard ground, prayed, fasted for days, watched dances, listened to drums, and simply found himself. After the ceremony, he took time to tell his parents how very much he appreciated them. He said that the whole experience left him feeling purified and renewed.

Predictably, though, he gave as much as he received at the Sun Dance. During the ceremony, his Cheyenne family presented him with a special blanket to honor his devotion. It was a sacred object to stay with him throughout his life and to eventually be buried with him. They never dreamed that burial would be only a few days later. The Cheyenne were, like all of us, shocked and crushed by his death. They have made food offerings for his spirit journey all week.

He was just starting to make great plans for his future. Just three weeks ago, he and I exchanged a series of long e-mails discussing his goals. He told me he really wanted to study the environment and do something philanthropic. He wanted to travel, he said, and was looking into the Peace Corps. We discussed study abroad programs and languages he might learn and how he could come visit me at my home in Germany. He seemed so excited about seeing our world and doing good things in it.

Now instead, Clark’s future will be played out in another world. I can’t imagine that God is done with him just yet. I have a feeling that He is using Clark’s gifts in a different way that I won’t understand until I leave this world myself. His love is just too eternal to be finished.

My children were inconsolable when they learned of Clark’s death. And practically, like a normal child, Luke was so worried because he had promised to show Clark all of his Lego creations when we all got together in August. I told him not to worry, that Clark could probably see them all from heaven. He liked that idea.

Yesterday morning Luke ran into my bedroom and woke me saying, “Mama, I had the most awesome dream! Clark was alive and we were playing together in our Colorado house. The whole family was there and we had so much fun! It was like he was really there!”

Clark had told me once that my house in the Colorado Rockies at Christmastime was the place he felt the most at home. I told Luke that I thought Clark really had visited him from heaven in his sleep. That made him so happy.

Later that day a butterfly landed on Luke’s hand and stayed there for a long time. He asked, “Do you think this could be Clark visiting me again from heaven?”

Why not? If anyone could do that, Clark could. He had the deepest, purest love I’ve ever seen. His love was his real super power. And the best part is, unlike Superman, Clark was real.