A year ago I was spending Christmas and New Years at the deathbed of my very dear friend Fred. Some of you might remember him - surrogate uncle to me, father figure to many, nomad friend, master storyteller, football coach, decorated war hero… the list goes on.

That period of time was very difficult. I basically lived at the VA for 2 ½ weeks. Without the support of his local “Fred’s Friends” I don’t know how things would have managed.

There was little sleep, little eating, and many, many long nights trying to help Fred as he struggled through the valley of the shadow of death.

It was hard. But it was also one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.

The gift of time.

More time with someone I loved.

I didn't get to be with either my grandfather or adopted Gramps when they were nearing death. Even in life I still craved more time with them.

But Fred gave that gift to me. For 2 1/2 weeks time paused. Life didn’t exist outside of the hospital. And life inside the hospital revolved around Fred.

I took voluminous notes throughout the entire experience. I didn’t want to forget anything. I witnessed the impact of a man who spent 98 years perfecting the art of friendship and giving. The repay was tenfold.

At a time when visitors were not allowed in the hospital, the staff (who had fallen in love with Fred) made exceptions and he had a revolving door of family and friends.

I feel like in many ways the last few weeks of Fred’s life mirrored the finale scene in the Frank Capra classic, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Just as George Bailey looked death in the face and wondered the meaning of life, there were some nights that Fred (in and out of lucidity), would ask me the same question. “Why.”

“I love you Uncle Fred.”

“Why?” He would say. “Why do you love me?” Or “Why do these people care?” “Why do I matter?”

And just like that last scene in the movie, (which makes me bawl my eyes out without fail every time), as his life came to a close, he was surrounded and engulfed by an outpouring of love. Friends and students Fred hadn’t talked to in upwards of decades reached out to tell him “thank you”. Thanks for the impact he had on their life.

How many times did I hear former football students tell him, “You’re the first man in my life to say I love you. And you showed me what it was like to have a father.”

How many times? I lost count.

It was a wonderful life.

Because of the nature of Fred’s sickness, he should have only lasted a short while. Every day the doctors would tell us it was a matter of time.

But Fred hung in there. And the phone calls and visits continued. It was like he was trying to give us all the extra time we needed with him.

Scotty McCreery sings about wanting, “5 minutes more.” But I got more than five minutes. I got 2 ½ weeks. The time we always wish we had, but are always a little afraid of receiving.

We like to think of the New Year as a fresh start. For me, 2022 started with the end of a life. But because of the gift Fred gave to his friends, I feel like it was that fresh start - a rebirth of life and inspiration. A deeper and more unrestrained appreciation for the value and gift of time.

Entering into 2023, we’re all carrying various joys and sadness from the previous year. But I hope we all remember to treasure the simple moments. Find happiness in the mundane. And always say, “I love you.”

As my dad reminds me, “We have all the time in the world, but no time to waste.”

Happy New Year. xx Liberty