We’ve been away from the computer for several days – in Memphis attending the funeral of a friend.
Jack Rice was one of the most successful businessmen I’ve known. He drove the engines that powered the development of Holiday Inns, Federal Express, and Little Palm Island in the Florida Keys. He was the owner of nursing homes, hospitals, mortuaries, more than 3,000 apartment units. But more importantly, he was an animal lover, and his two puppies always accompanied him on trips, both business and pleasure.
He owned homes in Destin, Oxford, and two in Memphis.
Toward the end of his life he was quoted as saying that he could finally give up his paper route! (I tell you all this so you will think I run in such circles. Ordinarily I don’t.)
Driving back from the funeral which included a lavish party at Jack’s fabulous Memphis home, I ruminated about my developing gerascophobia – the fear of growing old.
It suddenly occurred to me that my greatest fear of growing older is not the new wrinkles that appear out of nowhere, or the occasional lack of nervous energy I had in my 40s. It’s the loss of friends who enrich the tapestry of our lives.
It made me determined not to waste another day complaining about real or imagined negatives which are inevitable for anyone who still has a pulse. The sun seemed a little brighter, the shadows deeper, and possibilities endless – the way Jack saw life.