Cook: The ongoing Noel of Cameron Bean

Cameron Bean, 28, died after being struck by a car while running along Moccasin Bend Road. He was struck on Sept. 19 and died three days later.
Cameron Bean, 28, died after being struck by a car while running along Moccasin Bend Road. He was struck on Sept. 19 and died three days later.

HOW TO HELP

To make a donation to the Cameron Bean Memorial Fund that will impact other runners at Samford and at North Carolina’s ZAP Fitness, visit any local Regions Bank.

I knew Cameron Bean.

Not well, mind you.

But just enough.

Enough to understand why people across the U.S. are still writing his parents, saying how much Cameron meant to them even if they'd only met him once.

Enough to understand why the Baylor School chapel was packed for his funeral, with some saying they'd never seen it so full.

Enough to understand why Cameron's cousin - Jonathan Hewitt, and they were tight like brothers - told the Baylor crowd that day that Cameron was the best man he'd ever known, hands down.

Enough to understand why Cameron's grandmother - he called her Nin Nin, and they'd chat and giggle for hours like schoolkids - stopped eating after Cameron's death, grieving so badly, she herself died four weeks later from what the family swears was a broken heart.

Enough to understand why Alan Outlaw has plans to hang a picture of Cameron on the wall - near the photos of legends like Steve Prefontaine and Alan Webb - in his Fast Break Athletics store, where Bean, one of America's fastest runners, used to work.

It was there, on the afternoon of Sept. 19 - 99 days ago - that Outlaw saw Cameron for the last time. His shift had ended, and Cameron laced up his shoes and headed out the Fast Break door. He and Outlaw had been chuckling over some Internet joke, which meant Outlaw's last memory of Cameron - laughing, about to go for a run - was a fitting one.

Miles later, as Cameron was running - safely, against traffic, with reflective clothing - that stretch of flat Moccasin Bend Road, a car swerved through both lanes, onto the shoulder, striking Bean, then driving away, sources say.

Three days later, Cameron died from traumatic brain injury. It was a tragedy of such irony: a man who always ran toward other people, killed by what appears to have been a hit-and-run. A man who always embraced the road of life, killed while running on it.

His death was a loss for American running: Cameron was one of the fastest steeple-chasers in the U.S.

It was also a loss for life. Cameron, who went to Baylor School and Samford University, was like a Macy's float: larger than life, somebody we all looked up to. He comes around the corner - wearing that gaudy red-white-and-blue shirt, or riding that crotch-rocket bike he kept a secret from his mom - and we're all smiles.

"He was a dude," said his brother Chris.

Cameron would write out Bible verses for everyone at holiday meals. He'd tithe from his birthday money. He'd turn down new cars. Didn't care about glitz or gold.

"He invested in friends," someone said.

"He always said, 'I love you,'" said his mom, Lisa. "He hugged you till it hurt."

Now it's Christmastime, and the hurt is so, so different.

The Beans put up a tree for him, decorating it with his old race medals. Cameron's 29th birthday was last week. The Beans went to his favorite restaurant - Taco Mamacita - then lit Chinese lanterns into the night.

They want to scatter his ashes, but not yet.

Not yet.

"We're just not ready," said Lisa.

Ask the Beans about Cameron, and you witness three things - they tell stories, they laugh, they weep. Theirs is a trinity of grief: remembering him, celebrating him, missing him.

Ask the Beans about God, and you witness one more thing.

"Hope," said Lisa. "I never knew how close God was until this happened."

When Cameron lay in the hospital dying, his dad, Steve, placed a cross on his chest, which was most appropriate for Cameron.

His lungs, so full of air, so full of life.

His heart, so infatuated with life, so devoted to God.

When he died, his organs were donated, which means Cameron's heart, lungs, liver and two kidneys live on today, in other people.

Those people? They didn't know him.

And maybe you don't either.

"His story matters," said Outlaw. "There are a lot of hurting families out there this Christmas."

The Christmas story is not Disneyland. Jesus was born in a time of terror, with a bounty on his head. His parents were frightened; they, too, were running for their lives.

Yet in the midst of pain, God appears in the smallest of places. In the midst of being struck by the violence of life, we also find some sort of birth, or resurrection. The cross appears on our chest, and somehow, our hope is still able to rise like Chinese lanterns into the night.

That's the ongoing Noel of Cameron, for all the world to hear.

The Christmas star still rises.

Sometimes, our loved ones are with us to see it.

And sometimes, they're simply on the far side.

Contact David Cook at dcook@times freepress.com or 423-757-6329. Follow him on Facebook at DavidCookTFP.

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