Yesterday started off like every other Monday through Friday morning. Mike got up first and took care of the animals, and I laid there, not grateful or overjoyed I had awakened, but annoyed it was just another day I’d be off to work and not off to write. I glanced over at the alarm clock, 6:25 AM, contemplating whether I should get up to pee or hold it. After a second of consideration, I grudgingly lifted my reluctant body out of my warm bed and sauntered into the bathroom, peed, didn’t wash my hands (I know, gross…), and raced back to my bed, convincing myself that ten more minutes wouldn’t hurt. Mike walked into the bedroom, kissed me on the cheek, and said goodbye. I mumbled something like “see ya,” rolling over. Fifteen minutes raced by. I glared over at the alarm clock, 6:45 AM. Get up, Tish. Get up. I finally got up, scurried around to get ready for work, gave the dogs a treat, grabbed my things, set the house alarm, and left. As I got in my car and turned it on, the sounds of Dr. Martin Luther King’s speech, I Have a Dream, were playing on my iPod. I turned it up, thinking I wished I was following my dreams and not heading to work. I ran to Starbucks, ordered a non-fat chai, jumped back in my car, hustled to my job, settled in, and sighed. It’s only 7:30 AM and I have to be here till 4:30. How am I going to get through this day?
I settled in, opened my email, surveyed my desk to prioritize my workload, drank my protein shake, made small talk with my co-worker, and responded to some emails. An hour went by. If you would’ve asked me if anything life altering was about to happen to me, I would have looked at you like you were a wacko and said, not here it’s not. But I was wrong.
An email came into my inbox titled, “Jim Berres Passed.” I looked at it for a minute, then two before scrolling down to find this:
All,
I am sorry to report that Jim Berres passed away last night riding his bicycle through the park. I do not have any details but I spoke with his brother and the witnesses believe he may have had an aneurysm.
I will keep you posted as I learn more but I would like everyone to take a few moments and pray for Jim and his family. If you need anything or want to talk about this tragedy, please come see me immediately.
The Employee Assistance Program is available to everyone as well at (800-420-2327) should you want to speak with outside help.
What? Jim is dead? How can that be? I just saw and talked to him yesterday and he was smiling, and laughing, and happy. How can he be gone? I read the email over and over again, tears welling up in my eyes. I can’t believe this.
I work for a big company and Jim worked for a vendor downstairs that supports the company I work for. Jim isn’t from here—like most of the other men and women he worked with—and had a family back home that he only saw once or twice a month. I once asked him how he and his wife could go for a month (and more sometimes) without seeing each other. He smiled and said it was hard but that it forced them not to take each other for granted. He said that you value the time you’re together because you spend so much time apart. Jim said lots of things like this. He would say good morning every day and ask me how my night was as though he genuinely cared. He would tell me all the things he had planned to do on the weekends: visiting new towns, eating at new restaurants, going to museums, craft shows, concerts, anything and everything to fill his time since he was alone. But not once did he whine or complain. He was just happy to be living, and now he’s dead.
I sat at my desk all day thinking about Jim, and how sad, and unfair even, it was for someone so loving, kind, and happy to have died all alone. I remembered that the day before, I ran into him as I was coming out of the break room and he asked me if the change machine was working. I said that I didn’t use it so I wasn’t sure. He said with a smile on his face that he needed change to do his laundry. Did he get to do that laundry?
Jim touched my life, and I didn’t even know it. I think we rarely realize it when it’s happening. He was just a co-worker, a stranger really, that in someway brightened my day a little with his optimism and his smile. And at the time I didn’t appreciate it. Jim truly lived, and now he’s gone, and I’m alive but don’t live at all. When that realization hit me like a ton of bricks I quickly resolved that things have to change. Life is not guaranteed and people are not always here. Why do I take that all for granted?
I called my mother and after telling her about Jim’s passing, I told her that we both need to call each other more. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of her, but I allow far too many days to go by before I call. No more of that! I love my parents, my family, and my friends, and it’s about time I make sure they know.
In the blink of an eye, my perspective on life has changed. I’ve changed. I’m going to take the things I learned from Jim and put them into practice in my own life. Those things are:
Lessons from Jim
1. Love those that you love. They’re not always going to be around. Don’t take them or the time you have with them for granted.
2. Visit new places, meet new people.
3. Embrace times when you’re alone; enjoy the solitude.
4. Buy a bike, take rides in the park.
5. Make someone else smile, every single day.
6. Don’t complain about what you don’t have, or a situation you may not be happy with. Instead be happy for what you do have: LIFE!
7. Smile.
8. Eat good food, drink good wine, and kick back and watch TV.
9. Do your laundry and any other chore with a smile.
10. Make sacrifices for others, even though they may not appear to appreciate it; in time they will.
11. Be the kind of person who people will miss because you’ve touched them even when you didn’t know it.
I’m sure there are more keys to happiness but I’m going to focus on these that Jim gave me. Every single day I’m going to incorporate one—and hopefully in time many—of these into my life, and I’m going to write about it. I pray these will become second nature to me and one day I’ll realize that I’m living, and no longer dead, and on that day I’ll stop writing this.
Life is not guaranteed, and neither is the chance to say I love you, or the chance to make that call, or to say I’m sorry.
I’m going to fight to live my life, while I have a life to live.
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