The father of one of my "extra daughters" died two months ago and there was a memorial for him today. His name was Jon Marshall. Other than being Stacey's Dad, I didn't know him. We met a couple of times, of course, because Stacey is a big part of my life, but we were, in essence, passing strangers.
It makes me sad to say that. It makes me sad because when you get to have an extra kid you should get to know from whence they came. The extra parent/adult should take the time to know the other real parents involved. But I didn't.
Today, hearing stories about Jon, listening to those who loved him tell their heartfelt tales about his influence in their lives, made me wish I had known him for real. The memories his kids and friends shared created a picture of a good, kind man who not only made people laugh but made people live. Jon seemed to be the one who could talk you into anything but knew how to make it all come out fine. Jon was the guy who was always on your side, never letting you down, always confident that it would work out well, but could also take your money in a wicked game of poker. His kids and friends had great stories to tell about him. I wish I had known him.
There is something about being in a room with people who are there for only one reason: to honor one man. And that is profoundly humbling. It puts things in a perspective that haunts you as you drive home. It makes you question your small place in the world, with your kids, with your friends, with your family. And with yourself.
If we have learned nothing from the past two years, we must have learned this: embrace those you love, either metaphorically or really. Tell them you love them. Be kind and help people.
Yes, I know. I say this all the time but it's a preach that can't be helped. Do it. Just be kind. Love. Help. Reach out.
I thank the Marshall/Jennings family for re-teaching me this today.
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