Life Is Short

Mortality has always been a fascination for me. My good friend Jeff's unexpected passing is yet another kick in the ass.

Y'see, my dad died at a relatively young age of 54. I had seen him just two weeks before he died. Interestingly, I beat him at a game of chess for the first time of my life that day. It was such a monumental occasion that we took a picture of it. A "Master" (not a grand master although close in the rankings), he made me play at least once a week since I was old enough to speak. My parents were divorced when I was seven years old, but the chess bug was well situated in my system. I've given it to my sons too.

I was with my mom as she died a couple of years ago. My grandfather and namesake, Don Sr., died when I was 14. I took care of my Nana as she died a slow and horrible death from cancer, colostomy bags and morphine and all that shit. I never knew my biological grandmother on my father's side. And I just can't talk about Papa. People who know me will give me a pass on this. He was for all intents and purposes my dad.

There's nobody left on the totem pole higher than me. With Jeff's passing I'm left without a person from whom I can seek sage wisdom and guidance. That's it. It's just me now. It's scary.

Getting back to my friend Jeff. I just spoke with him a few days ago. Things were well. He was kicking ass and taking names, starting up yet another non-profit organization. He bragged about his son Jarrod and how well he was doing in school. Business as usual with Jeff. He asked me to write a LinkedIn recommendation and of course I did so. All was right with the world.

Then he's gone in the blink of an eye at 48.

This blog post is wavering off point. Yes, mortality. It's always been fascinating to me. Here it is. We're all blips on the scene of history, and it makes me chuckle about those with whom I interact with an ego. Listen, I've been fortunate enough to meet lots and lots of celebrities, actors, athletes, and politicians. None of them will be remembered in 50 years.

Guys like Jeff won't be remembered either. Nor will my dad. Nor will I. And that's okay, it really is. My point is that we're all here for a short time, and nobody really gives a shit unless they love you.

So here's my unsolicited advice. Tackle your kid(s) and smother them with kisses until the pee their pants while trying breathlessly to beg for mercy. Donate blood. Let somebody merge ahead of you even though they're driving a BMW and being a prick by nudging forward. Have a drink at 11:00 in the morning just 'cause you want to have a drink. Look at the trees sway in the breeze and feel peace. Go to Punta Cana. Learn how to ride a motorcycle. Tell your co-worker that you appreciate what they do for the company. Engage in a conversation with somebody at Dunkin' Donuts this morning. Tell them that they look nice today and wish them a good day at work.

I already miss Jeff. A lot. Of course not as much as his wife and son miss him, but I'm talking about me. I'm being selfish here.

We're here for a very short time. Make it count.

Enough preaching.