I wrote this post over a year ago. I never knew if I’d share it. In fact, I assumed I wouldn’t. I referenced the story with my nine best friends and their wives at my 50th birthday this summer, but that’s the only time I’ve mentioned it. I’m sharing it now because it’s the holiday season and everyone is a little more real. Perhaps this post will push some of you to listen to the advice and act now, while it may not make as much of an impact in April or August. So, here it is - my most vulnerable post and most important advice I’ve written…
It’s the last day of my Australia / New Zealand business trip. It’s about 6:50 in the morning on Friday, September 7th, 2018. I just finished a nice run along the cruise terminal in Auckland, and I find myself full of grief. I’m not sad because I’m leaving. As much as I’ve loved the people, the work, and the dynamics down here, I’m excited to see my wife and daughter tomorrow (or yesterday or in two days from now – this time zone still has me confused). I’m not grieving the loss of Down Under. No, I’m sad for a very specific reason that smacked me in the face about 20 minutes ago and now I must write about it.
My sister Penni died four months ago, and this trip was the last thing that we shared. No, she wasn’t planning to travel with me, but she has always been with me on my trips …
Penni was 16 years older and galaxies different than me. I live a charmed life. I work hard and believe that I’ve earned the things that I have, but I’ll be the first to admit that I have a rabbit’s foot implanted inside me somewhere. Penni didn’t have such luck, and the outcome was a gap in our lifestyles. Since she was rarely in a position to travel or engage in much of the world’s offerings, she celebrated and shared in my experiences. When I was a student at the University of Florida, she’d visit with my parents for parents’ weekend, and we always had a blast. My career has taken me to many places, and Penni usually followed in one way or another. Every time I ventured to a new country, I had to find a local nutcracker for her collection. The first time I left the U.S. for business, I called Penni immediately. It was November 1998, and I remember her response very clearly: “You’re in Montreal? … Canada?... and you’re calling me from a car? Holy shit, that’s gotta be expensive.” When Facebook came along, she would do online research of my global destinations and comment to her friends: “Little brother headed to Mumbai. Fifth largest city in the world. Hope he’s careful.” “Little brother called me from Rio today.” It was her saying “Look at my little brother – he’s done good.”
In March I received a contract to speak in Australia and New Zealand for one of our long-time and favorite clients. Australia is the only inhabited continent that I hadn’t visited. Penni was starting to feel sick about this time and we knew it was probably something serious, so I didn’t want to make any of our conversations about me. However, I knew she’d get a kick out of the trip, so I told her on one of her last days of taking care of my four-year-old daughter (who she helped raise every day while my wife and I worked). She did get a kick out of it. “Holy shit, that’s far away.” (Again, with the “holy shit”.) This trip was the last experience that we shared. She didn’t know about my upcoming trips to London and Southern California. This was the last one. She wasn’t here to make comments on Facebook this week, nor was she reminding me to buy her a nutcracker, but this week was still something I shared with her … and there’s nothing else after today but memories. And that’s why I’m sad.
I’m writing this post for two reasons. Writing about her helps me get through this process of grieving. The second reason is because this story brings with it the most important advice I’ve written:
Tell someone who you love and admire that you love and admire them.
When I used to hear people say: “Tell your loved ones how you feel because you never know if this will be your last chance to do so”, I never took it seriously. Two reasons for my dismissal come to mind. For one, I just assumed there would always be tomorrow. Even with Penni being sick, we thought she’d beat it. I think everyone knows and understands this first reason – we’re all guilty of taking tomorrow for granted - so it’s the second reason that I really want to convey to you.
The second reason I never took that advice seriously is because I never thought about its impact on me. Telling those special people in your life that you love them is one of the best gifts you can give yourself. It’s not just about them hearing or knowing it, but it’s also about us going through the process of communicating our feelings to them. I believe Penni knows how I felt, and I believe she knew it when she was alive. However, I never told her. I didn’t go through the process, so I never got to experience the joy of expressing myself. I lost out, not just Penni. And that sucks.
So, tell them how you feel. Give them a hug. Send them a nice text message. Whatever … just express yourself. It’s the holidays – roll with the emotions in the air and express yourself. If you don’t, you may miss out on one of the best feelings one can experience.
