Not just another day

It was Easter Sunday, April 9, 1939. Of course, Easter is never “just another day,” but is any day?

Every day, something is happening somewhere to someone, every single second. Events—sad or glorious, troublesome or jubilant—swirl together to form the richness of life.

The air was cool in the mountains of Tennessee, and Elizabeth prayed the rain would stop before church. After the service, a ray of sunlight broke through a stained-glass window as she walked down the aisle and married my father.

Afterward, close friends and family gathered at my grandparents’ home for a reception featuring a cake baked by my grandmother. By early evening, the happy couple set off for their honeymoon in Florida, driving a car Dad had borrowed from his uncle. They were excited to begin their life together. My mother was soon to turn twenty, and my dad was twenty-five. On that day in Tennessee, two young people began a wonderful journey.

As Mom and Dad danced to the 1939 Glenn Miller recording of “Moonlight Serenade,” the sounds of war grew louder, and the Great Depression, thankfully, began to fade.

The last anniversary they celebrated was a larger gathering at my home, 60 years later, on the afternoon of April 9, 1999. Dad passed away a few months later, marking the end of their journey together.

On that same day in 1939, Marian Anderson performed “America” on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial after being denied the opportunity to sing at Constitution Hall because she was Black. With the support of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, 75,000 people gathered to hear her voice—a defining moment that symbolized both courage and unity.

It was not just another day.

Long before my parents were married and Marian Anderson made history, General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox, Virginia, on April 9, 1865.

How many private battles were won and lost on that same day?

On April 9, 2026, a baby came into the world as a great man left it. In my mind, I can almost see Lee Walburn greeting my friend’s new grandson, Sully Kerr, and sending him on his way with a smile and a thumbs-up.

My pal, mentor, and encourager, Lee Walburn, waved goodbye to all of us that day, leaving behind a legacy of kindness and inspiration. Though he was inducted into the Georgia Writers Hall of Fame, what he loved most was helping others find their voice. The author, Terry Kay, might not have written “To Dance with the White Dog” without Lee’s encouragement. Pat Conroy may not have found the courage to write “The Great Santini” without Lee’s support. And Lewis Grizzard, who adored Lee’s wife Jackie, found in their friendship the kind of warmth that fueled his humor and storytelling.

I wouldn’t be writing this today if it weren’t for Lee. I had no idea I had any talent until he told me. I would never compare myself to writers like Terry Kay, Pat Conroy, or Lewis Grizzard, but that never mattered to Lee. He was always there to encourage and support aspiring columnists, novelists, and humorists alike.

His obituary will surely list his many accomplishments, but it won’t capture how much he enjoyed pecan cookies or how deeply he loved his wife, his life, and the written word. Nor will it fully account for the countless people he helped simply because he believed in them.

So whatever Lee said to Sully as their paths briefly crossed, I wouldn’t be surprised if it leaves a lasting mark. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if Sullivan E. Kerr grows up to write an A+ essay—or more.

Every day, sorrows and celebrations unfold somewhere in the world. Birth and death walk side by side, constant companions in the human story. And when one life fades, another begins.

As one day leads into the next, we often forget that each moment is unique, shaped by the events within it. This reminds us to be present and grateful for every single moment.

There is great comfort in knowing that God watches over us throughout our lives – from the moment we are born until the moment we pass away. Whether a day is filled with tears or with joy, we should treasure each one and remember:

It is never just another day.

In loving memory of Sir Lee Walburn:  March 9, 1937 – April 9, 2026
Thank you, Lee, for being outstanding.