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

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Today is Pearl Harbor Day and I've seen some pretty wonderful and moving stories to commemorate this historic day. A couple of my nonagenarian dearies are currently over in Hawaii with Beyond the Call and I highly recommend you go follow their page. Tracie Hunter does simply wonderful things.

This morning on my way to work I was going through my mental rolodex of all the spunky and tenacious Pearl Harbor vets I've known over the years. I specifically choose those two adjectives as a descriptor because I've always felt like there was a certain extra quality and mettle to the veterans who survived the bombing of Pearl Harbor.

Many of them had signed up in the late 30s as a way to care for family, earn extra money, and have a bit of fun. My great-great Uncle, stationed at Clarke Field, Philippines, saw it as a way to escape a difficult home life and perhaps find some purpose.

Then tragedy struck, a "sneak attack."

They witnessed and experienced horrific things, (I remember my friend Lauren Bruner who suffered 70% burns on the USS Arizona), shaping the rest of their lives. But they were no quitters, responding with vigor and alacrity, the attack at Pearl Harbor gave them a drive unlike any other. In it to win it, they were the original fighting men of WWII.

uss arizona memorial. 81 years after the bombing of pearl harbor - the arizona is still leaking oil

Four years later, after fighting in fierce battles all over the Pacific - Guadalcanal, Bougainville, Tarawa, Peleliu, New Guinea, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, and more, what do they identify as? "Pearl Harbor Survivors." It's a striking thought.

Now they are in their hundreds, and still returning to Pearl Harbor.

What menschen.

Some of the stories I've collected the last 15+ (really closer to 20) years would send the tears down your cheeks with LAUGHTER. The Pearl Harbor Veterans were among the first to teach me that that age has nothing to do with the maturity level. Which makes sense considering I've been called "Mom" many a time by a nonagenarian.

Donald Long

"Stu, I think they should hook up a swing to float across the lobby and you should swing back and forth on it singing 'Remember Pearl Harbor' in your white uniform for all the hotel guests to hear." This was a suggestion made by 98 year old PBY Radioman, Don Long.

Full of as much charm, elegance, and humor as he had as a young 20-something in the war. Stu, the PH Survivor in question, responded only if Don would join him.

Ira “Ike” Schab

One of my favorite memories ever was a few years (and a different haircut) ago when I was privileged to go with the Best Defense Foundation as they took Survivors back to Hawaii for the anniversary of that Day of Infamy. One of the veterans I became closely attached to was Saxaphone player and member of the USS Dobbin Navy Band, Ira 'Ike" Schab. At the time I believe Ike was about 99 years old. His eyesight was very poor and unless you were very close, he could only make out colors and shapes generally. But he was determined to return to the island where his life changed forever.

To help him distinguish me from the rest of the blurry crowd, I made sure to wear a bright yellow watch every day so that he would know it was me. From there we struck up a great friendship. One afternoon in particular we were sitting together in the van en route to the next event. Because of his background in music I was eager to know his favorites.

"I know he's a little overrated at times, but I do love Artie Shaw." I told him. I took my phone out to play "Begin the Beguine" (my favorite), but 99 year old Ike beat me to the punch. Taking his hearing aid out of his ear and sticking it in my own ear, he proceeded to pull up Pandora and play the Artie Shaw channel.

I was dumbfounded.

The dichotomy of the moment, the anniversary, and "modern technology" in the hands of an almost centenarian musician. It was phenomenal.

K. P. Platt

Last Halloween at one of my monthly breakfasts, 101 year old K.P Platt (Schofield Barracks), presented a plastic spider ring to me and said, "With this ring I thee WEBB."

"K.P., I'm flattered, but what would Lorena say? You've only been married 76 years."

"True." He said. And gave Lorena a pinch.

Anyways, I run long and wax elephants at this point. But these are some of the memories I have for Pearl Harbor Day. Not just the tragedy and loss of the day, but also the character, optimism, and humor that was formed - BIRTHED that day, on December 7, 1941.

And for that, and their sacrifice, we are eternally grateful.