an epic life

Saying Thanks, I Love You – and Goodbye…

April 27th, 2015

Last Monday night, we received the devastating news that Jerry’s dad was not feeling well, and tests indicated his body is full of cancer. The next morning, Jerry got on a plane and has been with him ever since.

Jerry, with his brothers and sisters, and Dad.

It was soon after I met Jerry, late in 1990, that it was obvious to me that his Dad was a hero to him. And, as soon as I met and got to know Harlan, I could see why. Harlan is one of the most generous and noble men I know. I often thank him, in my mind and heart, for the man he raised in Jerry. I have been married to Jerry going on 23 years, and he is my best half. He is the best husband I could ever dream of having, and he’s the most wonderful father to our three sons. While Jerry obviously deserves so much credit for his wonderfulness, there is no doubt that the way his dad raised him has a lot to do with the man I have for a partner and who is the amazing father of our three wonderful sons.

Not knowing how much time we have left with Harlan (he is in hospice care and the cancer is aggressive), I wanted to thank Harlan for Jerry, and for being such a kind, generous and amazing father-in-law to me, Dad to Jerry, and “Pa-Grandpa” to our three sons.

I called Jerry Tuesday night and after talking to him, I got the chance to talk to Harlan and thank him and tell him I love him. It was painful and hard. And it was wonderful that I got to do so.

Our sons, sending a message in real time to their Pa-Grandpa.

I have been talking to Jerry daily, sometimes twice daily for updates and to see how his Dad, and he, and his siblings, are all holding up. Jerry shared that thanks to technology, his dad was able to Facetime with his only brother, Gilbert, back in Omaha. That conversation was heartbreaking – and special and important.

From Omaha, Harlan “winters” in San Diego, with Jerry’s sister, Lisa, and her family. Harlan is a “worker” so while in California during the winter and early spring, he spends his days outside working on projects and putzing around. Because he is not able to do that now, Jerry said that Thursday they moved his dad outside in his wheelchair so Harlan could “supervise” and Jerry and his brothers and sisters could do the work their dad would normally enjoy doing. Afterward, the boys and their dad “passed out” in their respective recliners and proceeded to snore in unison. Another evening, Jerry texted me a photo of he and his Dad drinking beers together.

Jerry and his Dad, drinking beers last night.

Jerry said his dad’s cousin, Betty, stopped by for a visit. They hadn’t seen or talked to each other for a long time. The two reminisced, and Jerry heard stories about his Dad, and his Dad’s youth, that he had never heard before.

When someone we love falls ill, or approaches the end of his or her life, it sure puts things in perspective real quick, doesn’t it? Suddenly, we are absolutely certain of who and what are important.

By the way, during our spring break, we visited Jerry’s Dad – just 3 weeks ago – and all was well. At least we thought it was. Now, especially, we are so very grateful for having made that trip.

We spent a few days of our recent Spring Break in the San Diego area so we could visit Jerry's sister, Lisa, and her family – and to get some time with Jerry's dad, who winters there. We are extra glad that we did that!

Some of my favorite memories of Harlan are the trips he’d make to visit us in Wyoming. We’d take him into our mountains, and we’d fish with him. He, and his brother, our “Uncle Gilbert,” built a treehouse for the boys, and made furniture for us. We also love our annual trips to Omaha because we get to go fishing with him, eat carp with him at Joe Tess’s, go to the Henry Doorly Zoo with he and Gilbert, and other family members. I will also always remember fondly the simple pleasure of sitting with him on the patio in his big and wonderful back yard, under the big trees he takes such good care of, and our boys, and their cousins playing yard games and swinging on his famous tire swing.

You know, for a long time now, I’ve been fascinated by what people who are approaching the end of their life have to say, and to teach us. Near the end of their life, they are in a unique position, and I would guess they place a higher value on each of their days than the rest of us do. In my research, these people always – 100% of the time – reflect most fondly on the people in their lives, on their family and friends. They don’t wish they would have worked harder, and most of their time is not spent reflecting on their work or accomplishments, but rather on their people, and the memories they have shared with them.

While I’m heartbroken for Harlan, and for my husband, and his siblings, and for all of us who love Harlan, I can’t help but be grateful that Jerry, and his siblings, and all of us who love him, have the opportunity to say what we want to say to such a wonderful and generous man. I love you so much, Harlan! And, I thank you! Your wonderful ways continue to live on and be of great influence to, and in, my husband. I see you in Jerry on a daily basis. The way Jerry starts each morning watching and reading the news, the way he makes pancakes for the boys on Saturday morning, the way he can fix things, his work ethic, integrity, loyalty and bravery, and his level of respect for others – and the list goes on.

Jerry, his Dad, and our boys, on the Loop Road about five years ago.

Two years ago, I read the book, Chasing Daylight: How My Forthcoming Death Transformed My Life. It had a profound effect on me. The author, Eugene O’Kelly, had learned he had terminal brain cancer, and he wrote about his journey from diagnosis to the day he passed and couldn’t write anymore. One of the things that struck me most was his “unwinding” of relationships while he was still alive. He would thank people who meant a lot to him, and he would reflect on shared memories with them. I remember then thinking that it would be good for all of us – not only those with a terminal illness diagnosis, but those of us who are living as if not terminal – to be more conscious about our relationships and the people in our life.

The devastating and heartbreaking call we received last Monday has reinforced my belief that we should not wait to say what we want to say to those who mean so much to us, regardless of the circumstances. We ought to get right on that. Right now. What are we waiting for? We may not get a call.

For now, I hope we get some more Skype calls with Harlan… but just in case we don’t, I say this to him: I love you Harlan Johnson. I will forever be grateful to you, and I – and we – will try to honor you every day. I will remember you for your love of family, your adventurous spirit, your honor, integrity, generosity and humility. I will also continue to love and take care of the wonderful man you raised in Jerry!

Think of the people you love the most. If you could say one last goodbye to them, what would you say? And, when will you say it?…

Another question to ponder, that is worth any amount of time, is are there people you want, or need, to make more room for in your life? And if so, what are you waiting for?

• Categories: Family, Life and Leadership
• Tags: cancer, death, end of life, family, goodbye, hospice, technology
• Comments: 2 Comments

Taking Stock and Making Deals

January 21st, 2013

I have been attending more funerals these days. I attended the funeral for a friend’s mother last week, and this week I’ll attend the funeral of a former high school classmate.

Howdy.

Whenever I hear of someone’s passing, or attend a funeral, I experience sorrow and compassion. But immediately following these emotions, something happens to me.

If you could do me a favor, think for a moment about the last time you attended a funeral or learned of someone’s passing. After the sorrow, what comes up for you?

For me, I experience this sudden urgency about my own life. I reflect on the people in my life, the work I’m doing, how I’m spending my time, and so on. I start making promises and deals with myself. Examples include: I’m going to be more present in my children’s lives. I’m going to listen more to them and play more with them. I’m going to tell Jerry more often how much I truly love him. I’m going to spend more time with my parents and my other family members. I am going to thank all of those who have made a difference in my life. I am going to be a better friend. I’m going to tell people how much I like, love and appreciate them. I’m not going to take this day for granted. I’m going to do this thing, or that. And so on.

I’m inspired, and the deals are made.

But then soon after, the awareness and urgency wears off.

My mission at Epic Life is to help others live as if they’re dying — to make each day count, and to “take stock” frequently. Because, while it’s a cliche, it’s also a fact: we have just this one life. None of knows for certain we will have tomorrow. This bothers me because I love my life and if I live another 40 years it won’t be enough.

I’m not afraid to die. It’s just that I love living and have a lot of living still to do.

What if we could live more often in the awareness and urgency that I describe above? I think it would be an amazing gift to do so.

I recently read 30 Lessons For Living, by Karl Pillemer, a professor in human development and gerontology at Cornell University — and director of Cornell’s Legacy Project. One of the chapters I refer to often is about how to live a regret-free life. Pillemer’s advice, collected from more than 1,000 people who are over the age of 65, includes: 1) Always be honest; 2) Say Yes to opportunities; 3) Travel more; 4) Choose a mate with extreme care; and 5) Say it now.

I like #5, in particular, because I think it’s common for many of us to procrastinate about the things we really want, and need, to say.

Another inspirational source that I watch once a month is Ric Elias’ 6-minute Ted Talk about when his plane was going down. In the video, Elias shares what he learned when he thought he was about to die. It’s great stuff from someone who fortunately lived through the experience. May his words inspire the rest of us.

What are the promises you want to make, and honor?

• Categories: Family, Life and Leadership
• Tags: best life, death, epic life, funeral, inspiration, life, loss, no regrets, taking stock
• Comments: 6 Comments

Imagine You Have 1 Year Left. How Will You Live It?

August 12th, 2012

About a month ago, our 5-year-old son, Fin, asked me: “When a man is old, is that his last age?”

His question was so profound I didn’t immediately know how to answer it.

Of course all of our lives are of different lengths. Unfortunately, I’ve lost friends and loved ones of all ages.

Howdy.

I love books. I read and read and read. Lately, my favorite author is Cheryl Strayed, author of one of my now-all-time favorite books, Wild. Strayed is a wonderful writer, and I feel a kinship to her when reading her words and experiences.

Recently, I finished (more like devoured!) her latest book, Tiny Beautiful Things. In a chapter called “The Obliterated Place,” a 58-year-old man writes to Strayed (“Sugar”) about the loss of his 22-year-old son, his only child, who was killed four years earlier by a drunk driver. He asks how to go on, and how to be human again.

In her response to the man, Strayed (“Sugar”) mentions a remark her own young son made that is, coincidentally, similar to the aforementioned question Fin asked me. (“We don’t know how many years we have for our lives…”)

Strayed, when she was just 22, lost her mother. She writes how deeply sorry she is for the man’s loss, and among other things, writes: “It has been healing to me to accept in a very simple way that my mother’s life was forty-five years long, that there was nothing beyond that. There was only my expectation that there would be — my mother at eighty-nine, my mother at sixty-three, my mother at forty-six. Those things don’t exist. They never did.”

“Sugar” continues by encouraging the man to think: “My son’s life was twenty-two years long… There is no twenty-three.”

The words and sharing, both the man’s letter, and Strayed’s (Sugar’s) response, are poignant. Reading it broke me open, and has caused me to think, often, of Strayed’s wisdom reminding us that any thought we have about the length of our lives is an expectation, not a certainty.

So, to the point of this blog post… Imagine, for a moment, that your life has only one more year in it.

What changes would you make? Who would you choose to experience your time with? How would you be? What would you say?

These are questions to live by. Just in case.

• Categories: Family, Life and Leadership
• Tags: cheryl strayed, death, gift, life, purpose
• Comments: 5 Comments