A few days ago, I was listening to a classic country music station, and a 2001 song by Diamond Rio came on. It’s called, “One More Day.”
“Last night I had a crazy dream, a wish was granted just for me. It could be for anything. I didn’t ask for money, or a mansion in Malibu. I simply wished for one more day with you.”
As great songs do, it unleashed a flood of memories. I thought about the passage of time, which seems to have accelerated lately. For many of us, our first 16 years seems to drip like molasses. Then from middle-age on, it’s like a gnat in a hurricane.
It seems like I attended only a handful of funerals before I turned 40. In recent years, it has become a regular occurrence. I’ve reached the age where every day, many times a day, I find myself missing a family member or friend. When they passed, I often comforted a grieving relative by assuring them that the dearly departed will live on. How true that is.
I miss my grandfather, who without fail, gifted me on my birthday with a handwritten poem on a greeting card. He also taped dimes to the card, one for each year of my life. For example, when I turned 10, there were 10 dimes inside. Since he lived to be 94, those cards eventually were weighted down with 30-something dimes. What an unforgettable tradition. If were around today, I could buy a Happy Meal, plus dessert, with all of those birthday dimes.
I miss my mother, who greeted me with a smile even in her dying days, in the depths of dementia. You never forget the look of love.
I miss my father, who could out-work anyone, and was honest to a fault. He wanted my life to be easier than his. It is, or at least it was, until he died. I sure do miss his fix-it skills.
I miss my oldest sister, who always welcomed me into her home. She had a big heart, and although she had no children of her own, she was a mother hen to many.
I miss my brother-in-law, who helped mend my other sister’s family during a rough time. Some folks are just natural healers.
I miss the radio station owner who gave me my first job, while I was still a teen. Back then, he seemed like a cranky curmudgeon. I now realize he was a wealth of knowledge. I wish I had asked him more questions.
I miss the many media colleagues and friends I’ve lost in recent years. They were truly close personal friends, who taught me the importance of appreciating our listeners, our viewers, and our readers.
I miss my best friend, who died three years ago. He was he brother I never had. You know that person you could call on a moment’s notice, to share a stupid joke? The person you could lose contact with for six months, and then pick up right where you left off? He was that person. And he has proven to be irreplaceable.
I even miss people I never actually met. Like the Sunday morning TV host who taught me that I could deliver the news without shouting, gesturing, or trying to raise anyone’s blood pressure. I never got to tell him, but he made me a far better communicator.
I miss the baseball team manager who died earlier this year. He was always encouraging. “Let’s go, Jonesy! Way to go, Smoltzie!” His players knew he would stand up for them, and they never wanted to disappoint him. We all need someone like that in our lives.
I miss my co-worker, also a TV news anchor, who encouraged me to write books, which led to a weekly newspaper column. I also miss his sense of humor, which apparently rubbed off on me.
There are many more, of course, including uncles, aunts, and in-laws. Like Diamond Rio, I would tell them all, “I’d hold you every second, and say a million I love you’s. That’s what I’d do with one more day with you.”
