I started writing a reflection of some of my memories of you, Al, but I’m sure you already share those memories (at least those that are worth remembering!). Hopefully, I’ll get the chance to share my memories of you with Colt, one by one, over the coming years, and help him continue to get to know his dad.
So, instead, I want to tell you what I’ve learned from you. I want you to know the impact you’ve had on my life, above and beyond our bike rides, cheesy texts, and our shared love of Heather.
I’ve learned that:
Even a stubborn ski bum can buy a home, wear a suit, attend galas, and vacation at 5-star resorts :)
Life really is simple. Keep doing what you love, speak your mind when it matters, stand by your family and friends, and get the biggest TV you can afford.
Cotton shirts are totally acceptable and practical biking apparel. In fact, they make much more sense than bloody Lycra and Spandex!
Focus on quality time, not stuff. You and Heather have never fussed over material things (OK, except for your TV, costumes, shoes, and Colt’s baby/car seat carrier thingie!!). Instead, you invested in vacations, playing outdoors, and making family time quality time.
It’s totally OK to change your mind. Living in an apartment, marrying, and having children certainly weren’t on your radar before you met Heather. But then she came along, and you were OK with this new plan. Maybe it’s because she agreed to be a Paul. I think it’s because you knew that you couldn’t let her go.
It’s totally possible to love a lady in the limelight, but demand none for yourself.
Just because you love meat and three veg, doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy a five-course meal at La Rua and Sushi Village.
Just because the doctors say it’s so, doesn’t mean it’s so. First Heather’s body beat the odds by falling pregnant, and then yours did by giving you more than a decade to spend raising your baby boy.
You don’t need a lifetime to live a full life. You’ve lived a lifetime these past 10 years and raised a son who probably knows his father better than any 10-year-old. He knows where to find the best pow, how to love a woman, that friends mean everything, it’s OK to be scared, angry, and sad, and how to live a full life, every day.
Acceptance is totally possible. Having your brain torn apart by doctors 10 years ago changed you. Adjusting to your new life changed you. Learning to live with the possibility of the tumor returning, changed you. In fact, at times you were really angry. But then when it returned, you changed again. We haven’t been able to hang out for a while, but there has been a peacefulness that I’ve sensed in our texts, through my chats with Heather, and through your social media posts. I feel like you’ve been showing Heather, Colt, and the rest of us that’s it’s OK. You’ve set out what you planned to do 10 years ago—live life to the fullest, raise a son who knows you better than anyone, stand by the love of your life even if it means wearing a bowtie, and go big or go home on the slopes, trails, and links.
Thank you for showing me how to live a good life, Al. Something tells me Colt is going to make the world a better place because of the role you’ve played in his life. Yes, he may end up being a touch flamboyant like his mother, but I hope he tries living in a van, that he finds a career that works around his powder days, and he woos his friends and family with the wit he inherited from you.
Love you, Al. I will continue to love you, Heather, and Colt and be there, no matter what. Tomorrow. Next month. Or in another 10 years.
xxx