Let's retire the "live for today" cliché and just do it!

 I love to write.  I find it therapeutic.  

Today I need that therapy.

Maybe it's because this week would have been my Mom's birthday that I am getting a little 'pensive' - because I really miss her.

When she was on her death bed a few years back the three brothers would fly in to Toronto, alternately, to talk to her and try to keep her spirits up.

I had 'great' chats with her...asking her about her life before my Dad; what she loved most about her time on earth; and about her extended family that I didn't know much about.

On the last visit she was often saying "I want to die" and it really hit me hard.  I asked her to stop saying it because we all loved her, and although we knew it was close, that she still had time to enjoy what time she had left with us.

Very eloquently she gave me a speech I will never ever forget.

"Marty I'm in pain.  Daily pain.  Just trying to get up in the morning...just trying to eat something with a rapidly closing throat.  I've buried both of my husbands...my sister, my brother, all my Uncles and Aunts and almost every good friend of mine.

I live in this 'home" (if you can call it that) and you make friends with somebody only to find out that they had passed away at night and there's an empty chair at our '5 o'clock wine time' seating.

You guys are all retired now and don't come to town (3 or 4 times a year) like you used to when there were meetings or conventions and you're several Provinces away and I can't get out to see you any more."

I got it...big time...and I started to apply my thinking to it with the many, many friends I've lost over the past decade and a few real good ones that died well before their time with aids, cancer, and even more tragically suicide when they never asked for help nor did I recognize that they needed it.

Dad's got a building here in Edmonton - the Jerry Forbes Centre for Community Spirit - home for Santas Anonymous that he started here in 1955 - and a few streets named after him a block away from a pal I see almost weekly.  

Each Christmas 630 CHED graciously plays his 'A Creature was Stirring' piece, for the past 40 or so years, that salutes the volunteers that make that program so incredibly successful.

J'Lyn Nye used to interview me a few days before the campaign and I'd dread the question "what does it feel like to hear that piece" and I'd obviously speak with pride about the honour I felt and how proud I was to be a 'Forbes|" - but then I'd get in the car, it would be on the radio, and even 42 years after he left us it would 'draw tears' cuz that wasn't Jerry Forbes I was listening to...it was 'my Dad!'

The one benefit of being in radio is you meet lots of people...lots and lots and most of those people bring me what I call a 'touch point' - a moment in time that I will remember forever about that person.

Because of my age (72) and because of that fact I'm losing those friends and 'touch points' almost weekly, it hits hard and often these days.  

Most of them were younger than me...spouses; people I worked with; people I did charity projects with; people I respected and was proud to be a part of their lives too.

Facebook has a special feature to put those friends pages 'on hold' when you pass away so that they don't show up in your daily feed and you can still dial them up to look at their pictures and remember them when they cross your mind.  

Sadly if you haven't designated somebody to do that for you (usually a family member) they WILL continue to scroll by you and their birthdays will pop up and 'again' you go through the grieving process thinking how wonderful it would be if they were still here.

Over the past few weeks/months alone a few really good friends lost their spouses - both with marriages of over 30 years.  They'd show up for our staff parties - I got to know their kids - and you can see the pain they are going through when they post something about their loss - and/or you know what's coming when a birthday shows up or Fathers/Mothers Day, Christmas etc.

I also recently just lost a friend I've known 'since birth!'

My Dad passed away at age 58 in 1981.  On the day of his funeral I pledged to 'retire' at age 58 and although I opened up my company when I 'semi retired' in 2008 I controlled the companies and people I worked with to focus on either paying it forward (charity work) or on projects where I knew our friendship wouldn't be compromised if we got in to a disagreement.

To loop back to Mom and my conversation...During the last conversation I mentioned she ended it with "I'm lonely."

Losing people who have been part of my seven decades really makes me feel the same.  

I remember trips together; accomplishments; laughs; stupidity; birth of my/their children; concerts we went to; places we've been to; and fondly remember my time spent with them over the years.

Often on my social media feeds somebody's name will pop up that I haven't spoken to in a long time and I'll fire off a brief note to them thanking them for their friendship and often remembering one of those 'touch points.' 

My final big 'touch point' happened this year with the snowmobile accident and it really hit home when the Doctor told me how fortunate I was not to have killed myself.

I sold the snowmobile right away, then the motorcycle this summer and although I 'loved' both of those units I simply couldn't put my wife and kids through anything like that again...'ever'....so it was the right decision to sell them.

I also have been very fortunate in my life and career to be able to do the #1 thing I love the most and that is 'travel' and I'm trying to narrow my 'real' bucket list down big time while I'm still here breathing this fire fractured air that we've had all summer here in Edmonton.

My love for Europe is immense.  I still 'learn' about the countries I go to.  I 'love' to chat with people over there in 'fractured' English - and I treasure seeing any and all places I've visited when they pop up on tv shows or movies.

I've been so fortunate to have visited 35 countries - so far - and I still have more to see.

For years I almost 'apologized' to people because of that good fortune.

They'd say "it must be nice..." and I'd somehow deflect that comment by trying to make it look like I wasn't simply showing off.

I don't do that anymore.  At my age my response is now "you're damn right...why don't you go travel?'

So today, just to wrap up, and use Mom's last thoughts...I'm lonely.

Yes I'm surrounded by an amazing family that makes me so proud - and yes I have 'damn great' friends that aren't afraid to knock me down a peg or two if I get on a high horse about something|" - and I'm proud to hop on airplanes with these people and see as much of this big wide glorious world as I possibly can before I say goodbye to you all.

My loneliness is only because I really miss the people who I have lost in my world, especially over the past decade.  It's a profound sadness.

Each and every one of those people, somehow, made my touch points so incredibly rewarding and damn I wish they were all here today to continue our conversations in an extremely complex world.

So...to the title of this blog...don't just say Live for Today to somebody anymore because that is almost instantly forgotten until the next time you lose somebody who meant something to you.

Live for today?  

Live for tomorrow!  And the day after that...and...and...and...

And remind me to put in my will a special note to the funeral home to "please chip the grin off my face because I've had an incredible life and life doesn't owe me a darned thing."

Thanks for reading this and yes...THANK YOU FOR BEING A FRIEND! 

There...I feel better now!