Infinity Understood
- Paul Cotter
- May 1
- 2 min read
My father-in-law John Lettieri was not a rich man. After serving with the Marines in World War II, he worked three jobs to make ends meet and put his daughters through college. He didn’t have much. But he was willing to share whatever he did have with those who needed it.
When Bonnie and I got married after college, we lived in a small apartment in North Buffalo. Her Dad hated to see us paying rent for a tiny, poorly insulated place where our dishes in the cupboard frosted over with ice during the winter. So he came up with a harebrained idea: He wanted to cut off the second floor of his house and give it to us so we’d have a home of our own.
Like I said, it was a harebrained idea – totally impractical and outrageously expensive for him – so we graciously declined his offer. But it shows how far my father-in-law would go to help others.
When I think of infinity, I remember John's boundless love and generosity: limitless, stretching in all directions like space and time.
Now let me tell you about Harrison Nichols, the bravest little boy I’ve ever known.
Harrison was a second grader at the school where I taught photography to high school students. At age two, he'd been diagnosed with Stage IV Neuroblastoma, a deadly form of cancer. By the time he was eight years old, he'd had four surgeries, 35 cycles of chemotherapy plus radiation treatments to his spine, brain and liver.
Through all the treatments and trauma and sickness and pain, he never lost his joyful spirit. He continued going to school because he wanted to be with his friends. When he was too ill to attend classes in person, he joined them remotely by webcam.
When Harrison died at age eight, the whole school mourned. An annual Harrison Nichols Day was established to celebrate his short, exceptional life and to honor the positive impact he had on the school community. What I'll always remember about him is this: Even though he faced death at such a young age, Harrison refused to feel sorry for himself. Instead of sinking into the darkness of fear and resentment, he chose to be a ray of sunshine that would lift the spirits of friends, teachers and everyone else around him.
Harrison's life was a profound display of infinite courage and selflessness.
I’m not sure what the English mathematician John Wallis had in mind when he created the symbol for infinity in 1655. But for me, the concept takes tangible form in the stories of people like John Lettieri and Harrison Nichols.
Photographer's Footnote: When I photographed the tree shown at the top of this post, I was pleased to see the infinity symbol naturally embedded in its gnarled bark.
