When I awoke this morning…
My husband woke me with the news that a dear friend had passed. Our friend Bernie had succumbed to brain cancer. It wasn’t unexpected. But it was a gut punch.
This man had lip-synced “Play That Funky Music,” at one of our parties. He had helped my husband build his business practice. He had a one-of-a-kind marriage to his beautiful Cate. He had grandchildren. And he was only 61.
Upon hearing of his passing the first words that came out of my mouth were, “Oh, Cate! Poor Cate! Oh, Cate!”
Cate had been updating everyone about Bernie’s battle via CaringBridge.org. Her most recent post hinted at the notion that her days with her beloved husband were growing short.
Still, you’re never “ready” for such news.
Moments later…
Within minutes I had a very different, more optimistic message from another friend.
She sent me a photo of her 18-year-old son lighting a menorah in Jerusalem. This young man is spending a gap-year between high school and college studying in Israel. He made the commitment to do so long before October 7.
Once the war broke out I asked his parents if they would bring him back home to the states.
His Dad sent me emojis of the American and Israeli Flags — 🇺🇸🇮🇱 — with the response, “No chance. These colors don’t run.”
And so our young friend remains in Jerusalem, where he studies, has given blood, has helped cook for IDF soldiers, and is celebrating Hanukah away from his parents and siblings.
Just 12 hours earlier…
Both of these events followed an evening of celebration and remembrance of my father-in-law, Bruce Vandersall, who would have celebrated his 80th birthday this week. We lost him eight years ago. It was a sudden loss, one that came way too soon for any of us.
This man lived for his family. His influence on his kids and grandchildren was profound.
As we do every year, we decorate my mother-in-law’s Christmas tree on or around his birthday. We follow up the decorating with the lighting of lanterns, which we launch into the winter sky with prayers, messages, and wishes.
It is a night we remember and celebrate a man who meant so much to everyone who knew him.
So what does it all mean?
I am struck by the confluence of these events in such a short timeframe. A celebration, a kick in the gut, and a sign of great hope. All in about 12 hours.
Somehow, these events are connected. I believe they are moments that should remind us that life is precious and short.
And while that’s not a profound discovery, it is one worth revisiting every day. Every day.
You never know when your time will come. Thus, the dullest of moments should be savored. The happiest of moments should be relished. The saddest of moments should be experienced fully.
Momento Mori: Marcus Aurelius wrote that “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.”
This applies to you and everyone you love.
You could lose, or you could be lost.
Let that guide your decisions today and always.
Happy Holidays.
Well said, Michele, very eloquent. And, I have a suggestion for you: You appeared on my radar over the past few years, after dropping off when your NFL days ended, with your appearances on Gutfeld. After the disappointing comments of a few of the regular panelists about the Derek Chauvin documentary a few weeks ago, and your own reasonable and articulate contrasting remarks, I was inspired to look for a way to follow and contact you...which I found here on the Stack (my strange published name comes from another provider that I follow). The next time you appear on G! ask Greg to let you plug this blog / podcast in the 'One More Thing' segment at the end of the show. I think he'd be more than willing to do so.
And Happy Holidays to you too.
Greg