Familiar Faces

Gordon Hazel died on January 19. The formal obituary noted that he spent 18 years as executive director of JCEO, that he was a Paul Harris Fellow, the 50th Irishman of the Year and winner of the Dorothy and Alan Booth Citizen of the Year Award. He was all of those things. But Gordon Hazel was more, much more…

This is not a sad story.

My friend Gordie died last month. He was 62. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer two and a half years ago, he was determined to live…on his terms…as long as there was one breath left.

He suffered through dreadful bouts of chemotherapy, a collapsed lung, severe pain and indignities too numerous to mention. But Gordie lived every day as he chose.

His spent his career making life better for other people. When he couldn’t work anymore, he went out on disability to spend more time with his beloved wife and family. He spent his last months (but one) in South Carolina on the beach, watching the pelicans and the dolphins, sipping a martini and raising a toast to the setting sun.

He loved golf. When he couldn’t play 18 holes any more, he played nine. And when he couldn’t play nine, he rode along in a cart and cheered the rest of us

He played his guitar and sang, and when the treatments took his voice, he played and we sang.

But this is not a sad story.

Every Saturday morning during his last few months, dozens of us received a text message. “Enjoy today to the fullest,” he would text. “Tell someone you love how much you care.” “Spend today with a special friend.” “Do something today to make someone else happy.” “Don’t criticize, condemn, or complain. Life is too short.”

One of his last Saturday texts read, “As I sit in the morning stillness, the smell of coffee brewing, I’m reminded of the many blessings in my life. At the top of my list is your friendship.”

Gordie died last month, but in choosing how to die, he taught all of us how to live.

And this is not a sad story.