The best friend of my brother-in-law and a man who became a dear friend of our family, died on Christmas day. He was 65 and had only been retired for 3 years. It’s sad to lose anyone but on the very day you plan on celebrating with your family . . . I can’t even imagine.

I’d never been to such a funeral. He was the former fire chief of the city I live in. His funeral was last Tuesday and there were firemen and firetrucks from all over. Such an outpouring of emotion. It was obvious that he was a respected professional and good friend to an awful lot of people.

The current chief and the fire marshal both spoke through tears about the impact this man had on them and the department. His long term secretary spoke about how she had a suicidal teenager on the phone once who was calling from another state. Somehow he found out where she was and got her help (this was before 911). His stepson spoke next of what a wonderful father he had been. In his personal and professional life, he was always thinking of others. The only thing he ever wanted for Christmas was a group photo of all the grandchildren. He didn’t live long enough to get it last week.

My black dog couldn’t help but remind me of how much less my life is than his was. I haven’t achieved half of what he had and more than likely never will. Nor will my friends and family overflow the church like his did. And of course my daughter wouldn’t even attend my funeral, let alone speak at it.

When you walk a black dog so much of what goes on outside of you is compared to what goes on inside you. You compare yourself to others and you always end up with the short end of the stick. I was mindful of my ruminating and did manage to catch myself and snap out of my pitty party long enough to listen to most of what was said and to appreciate what a wonderful man he was.

At the end of the service the flag was folded and presented to his widow. The firefighters stood at attention and filed out in order down the main aisle. As they came to a point they broke apart and one fireman stood by each pew, forming a corridor of firefighters for the family to be escorted through. All this was done while two firefighters, dressed in Scotish kilts, played Amazing Grace. It was one of the most moving funerals I’ve ever attended, truly one hell of a send off to one hell of a man. Despite the sadness surrounding this Christmas I couldn’t help but be inspired by such a good man. It was an amazing Christmas gift.

I may not have the achievements that the Chief did, but there’s still time to do make a small difference in the lives of others. Come to think of it, I think I already have at least with my son, my dad and I hope with some of my readers.

Have Faith. There’s still time for all of us. You can and do make a difference.

Here’s to a Happy New Year for us all!

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 1st, 2009 at 6:06 pm and is filed under Holidays, death, family, father-daughter, grieving, love.