Whose Birthday?

Yesterday, I was struggling to recall exactly who was having a birthday today. The reminder from Facebook said it was Joni Hobbs. I know a Joni Hough from long ago, but I was unsure of Joni Hobbs. When my memory of Ms. Hobbs came back, it was because I remembered that the woman died at a very young age (in her forties – she was young to me) several years ago. She was one of two people I knew from my Geocaching hobby who died within a few months of each other. The other cacher was a fellow named Will Neinke. He and I shared an enthusiasm for The Prisoner, a 1960’s series starring Patrick McGoohan as a former secret agent being held in a remote village in an unknown location.

My Geocaching moniker as well as my sign-off phrase at the end of my blogs come from that show.

To continue.

I am at an age where, “Death has more definable features…” to paraphrase William Holden’s character in the movie Network. I’ve lost several good friends to the grim reaper… too many in my humble opinion. But one must keep in mind that one does not live forever. Eventually everyone passes from being a living being to being a story. Something we need to be aware of when we meet with other people is to listen to their stories while they are living. Appreciate what they have to offer. Listen. Remind yourself that no one walks the same walk. Even if a walk appears to be on the same path, it is, somehow different.

Ms. Hobbs and I met briefly in person on several occasions. We would occasionally cross paths on the internet. It wasn’t until the last month or so of her life that she opened up to let the Geocaching community know of her impending demise and of her life to that point.

And she will miss another birthday.

As will Norm Shor.

Norm and I had a mutual admiration society based on the fact that we both worked in radio. For the most part, he was a gypsy, working radio stations primarily in western Pennsylvania and eastern Ohio. He met and married Karen, a woman who, when Norm worked at a radio station in Erie, called him up to ask him who in the hell he was and what happened to the person who usually worked the shift he was working. They hit it off that first night they called and the rest, as they say, is history.

My first wife and I became good friends with Norm and Karen. When my first wife and I split, Karen quipped that she was glad that she got custody of me in the divorce. By the time of the split, Norm was already on his final voyage – early onset Alzheimer’s. Karen and I are still friends – she says that she has been friends with me longer than anyone else she’s known. I take that as a compliment.

I drove solo from Dallas to Pittsburgh to speak at Norm’s memorial. I had to.

The inevitability of death is always present, but at the same time, never really expected. Death of a friend can be soul crushing if we let it. I prefer thinking of death as a passage, from the living world to becoming a good story which can be told with a smile or a fond rememberance. That’s what funerals are for.

When my mother died nearly seven years ago, I made the trip to Ohio not knowing what to expect. I assisted my sibling (very little as it turned out – she did the heavy lifting) with a couple of little details about the memorial service, and for the most part hung out until the viewing and the service. It was at the viewing that I began to hear the stories. Over the few hours the funeral home was open for visitors, I came to realize just how important she was to the people outside of our family. Those stories continued before and after the service the next day. And I’ll be darned if I didn’t get more stories about my mother when I visited the home town a fortnight ago.

Good stories have a long shelf life as do memories of people we know and love.

At some point, we are all going to leave this planet behind, leaving but a memory to live on with others. It’s up to us to decide what we will leave behind – good memories, good stories, or will it be a bad taste in someone else’s mouth.

I prefer good stories.

Be Seeing You!