Annual self-assessment in light of another life

I spent my birthday sick in bed on Monday. Haven’t celebrated that particular anniversary in bed in a long while, and it was way less than pleasant. There are times when being under the weather is not so bad, if the kids are big enough. You can watch TV or read a book until you feel like taking a nap. You can sip soda or tea or, better yet, hot toddies! It was a good opportunity to catch up on some email from old friends.

One who sent me a birthday e-card was Pam, one of my oldest friends, but whom I haven’t seen more than five times in the last 25 years. Pam lost her husband Jay right after Thanksgiving last year. He was the kind of person everybody wants on their team, at their party, and as a close friend or a family member, and Pam was a large part of what made him such a memorable person. She made him happy. He had a wonderful laugh that I will never forget. In fact, the next time I hear it, I will know I have arrived where I’ve always longed to be, forever.

Pam and Jay’s Jewish son-in-law has decided to become a Christian, to everyone’s joy. He says he wants to do this because of what he saw in how Jay lived his life and faced his death. Jay was not the kind of person to be pushy about anything, especially matters of faith. If he talked about Jesus, it was in the same way he talked about all his other friends, with unselfconscious pleasure and a never-ending sense of expectation about what was going to happen next. Who could resist wanting to know what makes a person live like that and be able to face his own death, though tinged with sadness, with his usual laughter, peace and sense of anticipation?

As successful, loved and respected as he was, Jay also was completely unassuming. He was a peacemaker and, without one’s really being aware of it, he had an ability to inspire others to do, be and accomplish well beyond their normal level, because of what he saw in them. How many people can do that? I sure can’t.

When most of us die, our departure has about as much impact on the world outside our immediate family as pulling your finger out of water. As hidden a life as Jay lived in the grander scheme of American life, his passing was a genuine loss of goodness in the world, whether we knew him or not. Thinking about Jay and his legacy on my birthday was a bit on the riveting side, now that I clearly am headed back to the barn myself. It's probably healthy that I fear I may be more like a finger coming out of water than like my good friend Jay.