You're alive, so use that as an opportunity to tell someone that you love them before they aren't

Because you never know when that opportunity will no longer be available to you

Instead of worrying about what you cannot control, shift your energy to what you can create.

• Roy T. Bennett, The Light in the Heart

If you're reading this...

Congratulations, you're alive.

If that's not something to smile about,

then I don't know what is.

• Chad Sugg, Monsters Under Your Head

Life has seemed rather heavy of late. Erin’s mother died of dementia-induced complications on Thanksgiving night, and my sister-in-law is currently in hospice due to colon cancer. It’s a lot to deal with, but sometimes life can be like that. The key (at least for me) is remembering how those you love lived their lives. In both cases, I’m fortunate to know that my mother-in-law and sister-in-law impacted many people and left their lives better for it.

While Barb, my mother-in-law, is no longer with us, and JoAnne, my sister-in-law, is still doing her best to remain with us, I know they’ll be remembered fondly by more people than I could possibly know. That warms my heart and puts a smile on my face, and it helps to dull the sting of losing them a wee bit.

I’ve written about Barb at some length, and I think I’ve worked through most of the grieving process. 2023 was a long and challenging year, and when we had her celebration of life on December 30th, I realized that I’d already been through much of the grieving process. Of course, I have yet to come out the other side, and I’m in no rush. What will happen will come about in due course, and those of us in her family have each other to lean on as/if/when necessary. That helps.

So I’m going to concentrate on JoAnne here. I could go back through our history, but I’m focusing on our present. We’ve been there for each other when the need arose, which is what’s important. She and my youngest brother have been together since they were 15, so if my math holds up, that’s like 43 years. To say they’ve been through some ups and downs would be something of an understatement. Despite that, they’re still quality, caring, genuinely good people.

JoAnne and I have developed a “big brother/little sister” relationship, and we've become pretty close over the past few years. She’s been able to tell me some hard truths, and because she is who she is, I’ve listened because I know her heart and where the words come from.

For years, she’s been my mother’s primary caretaker. For much of that time, it meant a five-hour round trip drive from southeastern Minnesota, where they live, to southwestern Wisconsin, where Mom and my later father lived for 35 years. Thankfully, Mom bought a house down the street from JoAnne and my brother three-plus years ago.

JoAnne was diagnosed with colon cancer a few years ago. Long story short, it became clear to JoAnne that her cancer had the upper hand and wasn’t about to yield the advantage. She decided to stop treatment and live out what time she had left on her terms.

I could not love and admire her more for having the courage to face the awful reality in front of her and decide that, while it would eventually steal her breath, cancer wouldn’t rob her of her dignity or her decision to live life her way until the end.

A few months ago, she went on in-home hospice, mainly to manage the pain. Because two time zones separate us, I won’t presume to know her day-to-day condition, but she has a limited amount of time left.

I wanted to do something to let her know how much I love and appreciate her, but that poses a challenge when so much distance separates us.

One day, it dawned on me that the point of a eulogy is to express how much we love and miss the dearly departed. The problem with that idea is that the person who could most benefit from hearing those words is in no condition to do so.

With that in mind, I wrote a eulogy for JoAnne and emailed it to her. It’s possible that sharing it here might strike some as self-congratulatory. I hope not, but I’ll share my reasons for doing so at the end of the post. I think you’ll understand why once we get there.

More than anything, since I’m in Portland, OR, and she’s in rural southeastern Minnesota, I don’t see her nearly as much as I’d like. The best opportunity for me to express myself, then, was to do it in the medium where I’m most comfortable- the written word.

Hi, JoAnne....

The thing I've always hated about eulogies is that the person who really should be hearing the words of praise and admiration is never in any condition to do so. I didn't want to leave things until it was too late, and since I'm not certain how long it will be until l see you, I thought I'd send a few good thoughts your way in the medium I do it best...in writing.

I know we haven't always seen eye-to-eye over the years, but as I've grown older, I've come to understand that such a disconnect isn't always a problem. Sometimes you learn the most from the people you feel you have perhaps not so much in common with. And I've learned more from you than you could possibly know.

It's no secret that I don't share your beliefs and never will, but I greatly admire your commitment and the way your life is built around that faith. There are so many hypocrites in the world these days, but I've always admired those who endeavor to live their beliefs. Both you and Patrick do that. It's genuine, it informs every aspect of your life, and it's not used to judge others. Those are deeply admirable qualities.

You're one of the most positive people I know, even when you're not feeling positive. Being around you makes people smile; I know it makes me feel better.

I know time is becoming precious and I wish there was something Erin and I could do to make that time easier, more comfortable, or- most importantly- longer. I know that Patrick is cherishing every moment he is able to share with you.

I hope you've been able to see what a gift you've been to the people around you and what you mean to them. As I'm writing this and trying to write something that won't make you (or me) cry, I know that when the time comes that you're no longer here, it will leave a hole that will be impossible to fill. There will be people to look after Patrick, of course, but it won't be the same.

I'll miss you, but I've done something to ensure I have something permanent with me to remind me of how much you mean to me. Attached, you'll find a photo of a tattoo I got yesterday. I think you'll recognize the words. I did it to remind me of you, and also because they're damned good words to live by. This world would be a kinder and gentler place if more people could see their way clear to living by those words.

Our world is a better place for having you in it, and every moment you're here it remains a better place. I wish you and Patrick joy and peace. Both of you are in our thoughts, and if there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to let us know.

All my love,

Jack

This is the tattoo in question:

When JoAnne went on hospice, she decided these were the words she would live by. The more I think about it, the more I realize they’re words I could stand to live by as well. I want to be more present, to live more in this moment. It’s all I have. Whenever I look at that tattoo, it serves as a reminder of JoAnne, just as I have a tattoo on my other arm to remind me of a close college friend who was killed in the North Tower of the World Trade Center on 9/11.

I posted the words I wrote for JoAnne because I wanted to take this opportunity to remind everyone reading this that we have a moment- now- to tell people in our lives how much we love them and how important they are to us.

And those words are as much for me as anyone who reads this.

I don’t know if JoAnne will read this. She and my brother are far more Conservative than I am and (understandably) tend to avoid my writing. But at least she knows how I feel about her.

Too many people in my life have passed before I could tell them how much they meant to me (my father, for instance). It’s a terrible feeling knowing that I’d never have that chance, that I’d never be able to tell them how much they meant to me. Perhaps they knew in some cases, but it’s still a terrible, awful, empty feeling.

So, what’s the moral of this little low-key jeremiad? It’s simple- never pass on a chance to tell those in your life how important they are to you and how much you love them…because you never know when they’ll be gone. And once they’re gone, so will any opportunity to tell them how you feel.

You can thank me later. Or not.

Thank you for reading today’s public service announcement. :-)

(All of my posts are now public. Any reader financial support will be considered pledges- support that’s greatly appreciated but not required to get to all of my work. I’ll trust my readers to determine if my work is worthy of their financial support and at what level. To those who do offer their support, thank you. It means more than you know.)