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The
other week we traveled to San Diego to attend the
memorial for a dear friend of ours. I
met John while in college, and he and his
wife were the host family for the cute exchange
student who was later to become my
husband.
I
have to admit that I both loved and dreaded going
for pizza and beer at John and Marge's house - I
found it so intimidating. John demanded
rigourous thinking, and while he was humorous and
insightful, articulating my ideas sloppily would
get me on the hot seat quickly.
Seems
it wasn't only me who had this experience.
At his memorial, there were the familiar stories
of the dictionary that stood on a wooden pedestal
next to the dinner table so John could jump up and
find a definition that would further yet another
lively discussion. John's incisive questions
that would kick off those exchanges. There
were also reminiscences of travels to ultra-exotic
destinations that he and Marge made over the years
of their delightful partnership. And as the
service progressed, there came the surprises that
come out when hundreds of people gather to honor
someone who has lived for over eight
decades.
I
knew John was a medical researcher; what I didn't
know is that he revoluntionized his field and in
doing so greatly impacted the lives of people with
rhematoid arthritis. I knew John had good
relationships with his children and grandchildren,
and I didn't know how very close they were.
I had been honored when John had asked me to
review a grant proposal he was writing in support
of an educational program for a school he and
Marge helped build in Tijuana. And I really
could begin to understand the impact he had made
on its students when a young woman brought us all
to tears while expressing her gratitude to "Dr.
John" for offering a hand up with his own two
hands.
John
played his life full out and didn't leave anything
on the field. So the question I heard
repeated from eulogist after eulogist stunned
me.
John
died from a slow degenerative disease, so he had
time to do that monumental deadthbed
pondering. It seems the question he had been
asking himself and others was, "Did I touch enough
people?"
John
asking if he touched enough people. It
seemed to me that's how he was measuring his
life.
What
will you be asking yourself when your time
comes? How will you measure your
life?
And
what will be different by knowing that
now?
Copyright 2007 The Juncture
Company
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