Remember This Moment

A few years ago, it became a family tradition that I create a video of events we have captured throughout the year and give it to the family at Christmas time. I wrap it up and put it under the tree and when the time comes that it is opened, we stop all the festivities and watch the video.

I love this new-found activity. Of course, I cry when I make the video. I cry while we watch the video on Christmas morning. Every time I watch it thereafter, I choke up. Maybe it's because I know the stress that is involved in finding the PERFECT song that says what I need to say to my family. Could be the hours upon hours I spend looking at pictures and finding the perfect one and making it all fit together. Maybe it's because I see how much my family is growing. Maybe it's because it always represents the end of year. I guess I don't need to defend it. I cry - okay?

I have started creating our sweatshirts to match the video. I find a theme and that's what my design, quotes, colors, fonts and video fit around.

This year I went with the song Long Live by Taylor Swift. It was a perfect fit with what I was trying to communicate with the family.

See, there's a storm a-brewing on the Deason horizon. It's not the kind to fear, but it's a storm that will bring many changes to the Deason family. And I need them to remember the NOW.

I think that at times we are all guilty of focusing only on our horizons. In and of itself, that's not a bad thing, but it's important to me to remember what is our right now. All too soon, it will be gone. Some stuff will forever be locked in our minds but I would ask my family (and those reading my thoughts) to remember the little moments. Don't forget the family barbecues, the laughter, the simple "I love you"s, birthdays, hugs from Hailey, Bill's giggle. Lock away the little things that warm your heart so you can retrieve them in the tough times. These are the things that matter.

Here's the sweatshirts. And the video. Enjoy...

It's Not Just Ground Hogs Day

It's my birthday. Happy birthday to me! I'm now 47 years old. What the crap? I SWEAR I just blinked and time passed. It's a bit surreal. I FEEL like I'm still in my twenties. Yet, when I look in the mirror, the image looking back is NOT looking twenty-something any longer. Weird.

I feel a bit melancholy this year. I don't know if it's because the big 5-OH-MY-GOSH-AM-I-REALLY-THAT-OLD-O is sneaking up on me, but whatever is going on with me...(sigh).

I have tons to be happy about. I have the ever-so-amazingly-bestest-kids on the planet. I couldn't ask for better daughters-to-be than Diana and Daulton. My husband is a rock solid kind of guy and I am SO very lucky to be his wife. I adore my grandkids. I have the COOLEST dog in the world (I know that's a bit weird, but I really, REALLY like my dog). I have family that loves me AND (I'll have to explain further in another blog) I have been fortunate to add more family members into my heart over the last 5 years.

SO here's to many more days to:

watch movies, read books, design great art, eat good food, walk barefoot in the green grass, sit by the pool, get haircuts, sing ferociously, play the piano, eat popcorn, soak in the tub, laugh out loud, fight for the underdog, make new friends, drink more pepsi, talk with friends, sit by the fire, hold my babies, watch my kids be better than I am, check out facebook, watch fireworks, write in my blog, ride in my jeep, sing the National Anthem, feel the sunshine on my shoulders, check out museums, go to plays, see great concerts, sit on my porch swing, watch my family play basketball, plant flowers, hear the ocean, listen to a new song, climb a mountain, roast marshmallows, go camping, buy new clothes, ride the harley, laugh with my husband, play games with the family, run, count the stars, make a difference, learn photography, dance when nobody is watching, be amazed at the small things, hear the birds in the Spring, go to the park, check out a rainbow, watch football, talk on the phone, paint a wall, listen to children playing, wrap up in a quilt, make a cool video, live for today and believe in tomorrow...

...CHEERS.

Can I Borrow A Nail?

I have a big mouth. I'll talk just about anything with anyone. I chat with total strangers at the Pepsi store, grocery store, park. I have friendly acquaintances everywhere I go. I know about the gal who had emergency heart surgery and how scary it was to be so close to death. There's the Grandma who fills me in on the growth of her granddaughter. There's the mom who CONSTANTLY fights with her teen about grades (sound familiar?) I know people who are doing drugs, quit doing drugs, filed bankruptcy, buried a loved one, been to jail, out of work, finding new careers, going to school...you name it. I know stories of triumph and despair, life and death, loss and gain. I don't know a single name behind the stories. We have never really been introduced officially, but we chat. Sometimes they cry, we both cry, we laugh, we jest, we talk, we share.

I don't judge. After all, who am I to point fingers? I have been down roads that would scare the crap out of some.  I have hit my own version of rock bottom and have slugged my way out. I may have been missing a few teeth when I finally clawed my way out, but I was smiling when I reached the top.

I have always believed that we were each born with tools. These are the gifts that we rely on when times get tough and it becomes necessary to sling away the sludge that threatens to engulf us. The thing is, the ick is different for each individual and the tools are just as individualized.  I don't believe that these tools are just for the ick-removal process. I think they are gifts that are better used to build. Maybe they can be used to build a shelter, but even more so, wouldn't it be great to build a fortress that can withstand the elements?

There is safety in numbers. In times of natural disaster, communities group together. When 09.11.2001 hit, our entire country came together in grief and confusion and we worked the problem. Somehow, against all belief, we came out stronger and wiser. There is steadfastness within each of us ... a resolve that NOONE will have to "do that" again. Neighbors bring casseroles to funerals, and dinners are provided to families with new babies.

I think it's important to keep these lines of communication open in ALL aspects of our lives. Wouldn't it be wonderful if we all shared ideas and problem solving skills we found beneficial and useful in the hard times? Are we embarrassed or ashamed of what others may think? I promise you, EVERYONE who walks this planet has something to share. I say REGULARLY that "we all have a story". I'm not afraid to tell mine and I'm always interested to hear yours. I love to comment/ask "Oh-my-gosh! What did you do?" And tuck away the ideas and problem solving skills to use when the time comes for me to face a challenge where that tool just might work.

So, I've been blessed with a hammer. Anyone who needs one just let me know. I'd like to borrow a nail and maybe a saw would be helpful. Let's build a fortress that will stand the test of time. AND let's paint it yellow. Okay?

And...Done!

Well, it's done. I started my facebook page about FlipSide Graphics. Check it out.

http://www.facebook.com/pages/FlipSide-Graphics/342047469153342

Since I thought I would check in with you, I'll hurry and type out a short blog. Do you know where I got the name FlipSide graphics? No? Well, go grab a Pepsi and sit down a minute and I'll give you the scoop.

I have made multiple friends from the clients that have graced my doorstep. Carolyn, Keith, Warren, Kathy, Midge, the Cobias. Just to name a few. I named my business after a client that I became friends with. Her name is Denise.

I have different names for my clients to explain who I am talking about when I mention them to my family. Carolyn is "the soap lady", the Cobias are my "pancake people" and Denise was my "soup gal". I named them according to their business.

I don't even remember the year I met Denise. I know it was before Jaden was born because I remember her office sending me flowers to the hospital. Jaden is 11. It's been a few years ago. Our time together led us down a road that became laden with potholes. Although the way was treacherous, every step of the path wound through beauty. I envision poppies and daisy's with a smattering of lilac freshening the air.

Back to how this all came to be. I was off to a meeting at the "soup place". I had done work for them before, but Denise had just been hired on and I was to meet with her and she was to be my contact person from that point on.

I have to admit I was a little nervous to meet with Denise. I wanted to keep this client and REALLY wanted her to like my work. We met. What should have been a 15-20 minute meeting turned into an hour and a half. We were friends. We were probably friends in another existence and were just lucky enough to find each other again. We talked and talked and talked. We laughed and joked and although we really had never met before, we spent time catching up on our lives.

We became friends. We exchanged phone numbers, emails, addresses and vowed that we would get together again. We did. Regularly.

Time passed. Our visits were sporadic, but it always seemed that we picked up right where we had left off. We chatted during the meetings we scheduled for the soup labels. We went to dinner or lunch together once or twice a month. I had little kids at home and she was trying to manage a career with her family. We just didn't get together as much as we would have liked.

I had a meeting at the soup place. It had become necessary for Denise to end that relationship, so my meeting was scheduled with a new gal. Denise has 4 BEAUTIFUL daughters. One of them, Mary Lynn worked in the office. I asked Mary Lynn about her Mom and she told me that Denise was under some stress and that it was making an outward show. Denise was speaking strangely. Mary Lynn asked me to go visit with her. I did. As soon as the meeting was over.

I was so happy to see her. I like to say that she was equally as happy. It was a brief reunion and a small respite from the stresses in our lives. She did speak as if she was drunk. Of course I made fun of her. We laughed at her speech. It WAS quite funny. This woman was VERY educated and took pride in her ability to master the English language. So for her to sound like a drunk? Hilarious.

We kept contact regularly from that point on. I would swing by and see how she was doing. We talked on the phone a bit, but it was difficult to understand her, so we stuck to the visits as much as we could.

Denise was getting the run-around from the medical world. We all kept leaning towards some kind of stress, when FINALLY she was going to be seen by a specialist. She went. I didn't hear from her. I waited. I STILL didn't hear from her. My impatience won and I swung by her house.

Denise met me at the door. I knew that it wasn't good. Problem was, she couldn't talk clear enough (especially through her tears) to get it all out. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a legal pad and pen and we sat on the couch.

It was one of those moments that will FOREVER be locked in my mind. My senses must have been buzzing with life. I remember the smell of the scented candle burning in the corner. I remember what she wore. I remember what I wore. I remember what was on top of the piano, where the dogs were, the tremor in her voice and the shake of her hand.  She spelled it out for me. L-O-U  G-E-H-R-I-G-S  D-I-S-E-A-S-E. They call it ALS.

I had heard of Lou Gehrig. I didn't know about the disease or what it all meant. We talked a bit, but I know I must have been distracted because I wanted to get home and find out what it all meant. I told her that we would FIGHT. She had me in her corner and I was hell-bent on kicking this.

I went home. I studied. I cried. My friend was going to die. She was going to die a slow, HORRIBLE death and there was NOTHING that ANYONE could do about it. I was helpless.

I spent EVERY Thursday (and some Tuesdays) with Denise. Before she completely lost her ability to speak, we were back on the couch chatting/writing when she brought up how she envisioned her funeral. She told me that she wanted a closed casket and that instead of a picture of her, she wanted a stick figure that said "see you on the flipside".

I kept the picture. It's my logo. That night my little company became FlipSide graphics.

Denise died. Her story lives in my heart. I painted poppies on my back porch. I still hear her laughter and I will ALWAYS carry her wherever I go.

Before Denise died, she wrote a bunch of stories and "essays" on thoughts and experiences in her life. I have those writings. She emailed them every week to her friends and family. I'll be making another book. When I do, you'll be the first to know. It will be on Blurb.com again. I have named it Emails From Denise. It will be done this summer.

And that's all I've got to say about that.

Not Even Myself

I went to the movie this last weekend with Shelby and Daulton. We went to the new one with Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close".  It was so much fun and what a great, feel good movie!

The movie might have headlined Tom Hanks and Sandra Bullock, but the star of the show was Thomas Horn.  He played Tom and Sandra's 9-year old son, Oskar.  Thomas has not been in a movie before. But, let me tell you, he was something to watch.

The basis of the movie is (from Google):

Oskar is convinced that his father, who died in the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center, has left a final message for him hidden somewhere in the city. Feeling disconnected from his grieving mother and driven by a relentlessly active mind that refuses to believe in things that can't be observed, Oskar begins searching New York City for the lock that fits a mysterious key he found in his father's closet. His journey through the five boroughs takes him beyond his own loss to a greater understanding of the observable world around him. 


Oskar is afraid of EVERYTHING.  He's afraid of air planes, bridges, streets, noise and people (just to name a few). So for Oskar to embark on a quest that will carry him throughout New York? Well, suffice it to say that this is no small feat for him.

Much of the movie is narrated by Oskar. Just before he heads out the door to begin the search, he says "I was determined that nothing would get in my way. Not even myself."

I've thought on that statement quite a bit this week. I've said it before. I'm guilty of getting in my own way.

I am creative. I went to college and got my degree in Graphic Design. I'm good at what I do. I'm not the best-that-there-is-out-there good, but I am talented. I see the world in shapes and colors and fonts and styles and have a great idea of how to wrap it all up into a pretty little package.

Where I go wrong is in the business end of owning/running a business. I'm always joking (probably more like trying to explain myself) with the statement that like the mechanic that never fixes his car, I'm the graphic designer that doesn't advertise. Lame.

A few weeks ago, I read about a gal that lost weight by blogging about it. I'm going to do that. You're going to be my captive audience. Every once in a while I'm going to throw in what I'm doing to better my business and get my name out there. I'm going to quit blaming other things and take the responsibility and place it square on my shoulders. I'm going to hike up my big girl panties and give Mark some help with the household finances.

I'm going to share my talent and make some money while I'm at it. Take a look at my facebook page.


http://www.facebook.com/pages/Inspired-Because/304076676284880 

My first step will be to update it and create a new page with ALL of my graphics.  I will launch the second page (FlipSide Graphics) by tomorrow. I have part of my business that I call Inspired Because. I felt that I wanted to do a special line of pictures with inspirational quotes. The other page will be my FlipSide Graphics page. This will show a smattering of the graphics I have done in the past. I'm hoping that people will see how easy (and inexpensive) it is to get a personalized item. You know. Something that is exclusively your own. I have connections in just about any medium you desire. T-shirts, magnets, posters, car stickers, banners, jewelry, movies, books, logos. You name it. I can do it. I CAN DO IT!

I'll keep you updated as I go. I'll keep it short, but I know it will help if I have someone to answer to. So, here goes. If you like my work, spread the word. If you need a cool gift that will WOW those around you, email me.

Nothing will get in my way. Not even myself.

Tag...You're It!

A few summers ago, Shelby went swimming with some friends. As per her normal routine, she dumped all her crap on my kitchen table to "put away later". Drives me nuts.  ESPECIALLY with her.  She's the WORST.  When you enter my house, you step through a front room, enter a hallway and turn right to enter the kitchen where (of course) the table is, or you can turn left with a quick right and smack into Shelby's door. If you were to measure, I'd be willing to bet it's equal distance from the hall doorway to my kitchen table or to Shelby's room.

A rational person might think it would make sense for her to just drop things into her room. But, no, Shelby is FOREVER slinging her things on my table. She drops her keys there. She drops her SHOES on the table. Books, earrings, candy, IPod. If it is in her grimy paws, it lands on my table.

Don't think for a second that she is just dropping her stuff off for a moment and eventually will gather it up and place it in her room.  No, it stays and stays and stays and stays. There are times she will drop her stuff on the table, TURN AROUND and head to the bathroom that is RIGHT BY HER ROOM. ARRRRRRRRRRGH!

I yell, we squabble. I tell her my table is NOT her closet. She lamely tells me she is going to get to it in a minute. WHATEVER.

So when that summer day hit and there were flip flops, towels, sunglasses, and sun screen flung on my table it crossed my mind to beat her within an inch of her life.  I know you've seen the movies where a character is SUPREMELY upset and has a moment where their imagination takes over and they visualize themselves doing unspeakable damage to whomever crossed their path. I experienced that.

Instead of extreme use of violence, I opted to put all her stuff on her bed. One of the items that I grabbed was an old blue bath towel. It's not ours. I didn't know who it belonged to, didn't care. Shelby could get it back to WHOEVER and NOT put it on the table.

A couple of days later...that ugly towel was back on the table. Does this girl EVER learn?  I put it back in her room. Later that day?  You guessed it. It was back on the table. This time, Shelby was in her room when I discovered it, so I picked it up and flung it at her and told her to PUT IT AWAY. Brat.

She flung it back at me and said she didn't know who the towel belonged to, so I could put it out with the swim towels. What?

Game on.  I waited until Shelby was gone and slipped into her closet and stuck it inside one of her sweatshirts she had hanging up.  A couple of weeks later, she went to wear that sweatshirt and the towel was in it. I was quite proud of how ingenious I was in making sure that SHE dealt with her own crap.  A few weeks later I found the towel in one of my drawers. WHAT THE CRUD?

I hid it in her car. I found it in some of my belongings.

I waited for Christmas. I wrapped the towel in a very pretty package and the family howled with laughter when she opened her "gift." Spring came and I went to the basement to pull out my summer clothes. (I alternate clothes in my closet according to the season because there just isn't enough room for everything.) I opened one of the totes and there was that DANG towel.

I can't imagine my "lesson" has sunk in and I can't fathom either one of us conceding victory. We're both pretty stubborn that way.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that when I enter the pearly gates, I'll be carting the stupid towel with me. I'll probably be swearing the whole time I'm walking up the path to greet my maker. But, THANK GOODNESS!  At least I know that HE'LL understand. After all, HE did this. HE created this stubborn, smart, funny, beautiful girl, and then he turned her loose on ME!

Until that time, I only have one thing to say..."Hey Shelby, TAG! YOU'RE IT!"

A Story About Friendship

I wrote a book. I've had it safely tucked away in my file for 9 years now. I wrote it right after my friend died on January 05, 2002. It's not in the realm of great novels such as Little Women, Lord of the Rings or Tom Sawyer.  It falls more in the category of Dick and Jane (except I highly doubt it will be read and remembered by every single first grade student in the nation.)  You can check the book out at blurb.com. Just type my name Linnette Deason in the search field. I think if you type the name of the book My Best Friend Ray you'll get to it as well. Here is a small preview, but I think it's more legible on the Blurb website.

My Best Friend...

Hard Cover with Dus...

By Linnette Deason

Book Preview

I gave it to my kids for Christmas this year. I have waited for a way to be able to print the book, and FINALLY I found a site on the internet that does print-on-demand so I didn't have to pay for a grundle of books to gather dust in my closet somewhere.

I'm very proud of my endeavor. It's cute. The story is short and sweet and the illustrations are simple. (Although this SIMPLE book took over 50 hours to create....HA!)

This blog isn't about my accomplishment (although I am very proud.  Yes, I've patted my back a couple of times.)  I wanted to write about Ray. I wanted to share more of the story.

Ray was our neighbor for 5 years before I came to know him. I would see him pass by my house in his pick-up truck with his trusty dog, Bandit, sitting in the passenger seat. Sometimes we would do the obligatory wave to each other, but quite honestly, most times I found something to occupy my hands so I wouldn't have to acknowledge him.

He was a beast of a neighbor. He was constantly swearing at me. He swore at the *#! damn dogs and my *#! damn kids. As my kids got older and the boys began skating, he would stop his truck on his way home to yell at them to get out of the *#! damn road.  He got my phone number and would call me OFTEN to tell me that my dogs were barking, or the kids were playing too loud, or that I needed to get my kids off the skateboards.  Yes, he was a nightmare. I avoided his calls, his gaze and his hellos at ALL costs.

Fast forward to the early summer of 2001. I can't remember why, but the power was out. It had been out for a few hours and Mark, the kids and I were outside in the back yard. The kids were playing football with Mark and I was folding a load of laundry at the picnic table.

Dusk fell upon us and we began breaking out the candles and flashlights. I was watching the kids scamper around the yard when I saw Ray exit his truck and make his way up his back stairs and into his house. I know my first thought was something like "Looks like the Grumpy-Old-Man-Around-The-Corner is home". Then, I caught myself and thought "I wonder if he has a flashlight with working batteries, or candles to light up this darkness."  I decided that we had better go check on him and see if he needed anything.

Quite honestly, I don't remember if I went over to his house, or if I sent the girls over, but either way, he was checked on and despite all voiced worries and complaints from the kids, he was invited to dinner the following night.  I was certain Ray would not want to come. I could have sworn that he despised our family and dogs and that there was no way under the heavens that he would set foot in our home.  I had told the kids that I knew he wouldn't come so there would be no harm in asking. I told them "sometimes grumpy people are just lonely" so we would just invite him to be nice and then it would be over and we had done the "right thing".  Nearly blew me away when he accepted. Crap! Now I not only had to make dinner for this ornery old fart, but I had to think of CONVERSATION. Ugh.

We barbecued. Ray came over and brought along his dog. We had a great time. He told stories about his horses, his youth, his dog and experiences he had while on the job as a police officer. He was witty and charming and a genuine pleasure to have. That was the beginning of one of my greatest friendships. Ever.

There wasn't a day that went by that I didn't take the time to swing by his house and visit. However brief or extended our visits, I made sure he was healthy and fed. I told him daily that I loved him. And I meant it. I drove him to doctor appointments, shopping, and any errands that he needed to see to. He still drove himself to breakfast every morning and dinner on week nights and on Saturdays. But Sundays were ours.

Ray came every Sunday for dinner. Most times I would make mashed potatoes, or some kind of side dish and he would have me take him to Kentucky Fried Chicken and he would get a bucket of chicken. He loved that stuff.

Tanna and Shelby cleaned his house two or three times a week. They would do some general cleaning and most times the cleaning led to sitting in the front room and chatting with Ray. They adored him and enjoyed this time immensely.

I worried about Ray. I am able to see his back yard from my bedroom window and I would check several times a day to see when his truck made it home, if his sidewalks needed shoveled or if he was making his way in or out of his house. He was aging and with that came a sort of shuffle-walk. He took FOREVER to get from point A to point B. I would watch the tedious progress and my heart would fill with a mixture of amusement and concern.

My circumstances changed and I found myself temporarily adding three more children to my own five. I went to work. I worked nights and Sunday mornings to help balance the additional monetary demands that were placed on our family.

Saturday, January 05, 2002 rolled around and for some reason I had to work that day.  I didn't usually work Saturdays, and after working a full shift, I was anticipating my sweats, a movie and a dinner of "if you can find it, you can eat it".  Mark was out of town on a golf trip and I wasn't cooking. Period.

My bliss (or more like my idea of bliss) came to a screeching halt when I walked into my house and was informed that Ray had called.  I was supposed to go to his house at 5:00, but that was an hour away and I was oh-so-tired and in serious need of a break. I went up to my room and while I was changing my clothes, he called the house AGAIN. Arrrrrrrgh.

When I picked up the phone, Ray told me he was "ready to go get the chicken." Remember that we did dinner on SUNDAY?  Well, Ray didn't remember. I told him that I was going to be there to visit in an hour, but we weren't doing dinner until tomorrow and that since I wasn't coming for an hour he still had time to go grab his dinner at Nates Diner (that's where he ate EVERY night) and I would come over when he got back. He told me he'd see me in a minute.

Sigh. Looked like we were having chicken.

I got dressed and half-heartedly headed out the door. I made my way around the block to Ray's house and went inside.

Ray had on his cowboy finest. He had his good hat (black felt cowboy hat), a new shirt (tan with blue, black and red vertical stripes and pearl button/snaps), blue jean Wranglers and his good boots. He had shaved and got himself all "pertied up" for dinner. He was so spunky that it quickly rubbed off onto me and I snapped myself into good spirits.

We had a routine. While he was getting his stuff gathered, I would take his keys, load up Bandit (we didn't go ANYWHERE without her) and start up the truck to get it warming up while I went back into the house and made the shuffle/walk trek from his back door to the truck.

I got the truck started and headed in to help him down the stairs. Ray told me a joke. I remembered the joke for years, but it now eludes me. Anyhow, we were laughing and teasing with each other. Ray would brace himself with the handrail on his left side and I would keep his right side steady as we maneuvered the five stairs leading down to his sidewalk.

We were maneuvering, laughing, and holding hands when IT happened. We had made it down two stairs and had three to go when Ray turned purple, gasped and fell on me. Down we both went.

I'm sure what came next was only a few minutes, but honestly, it felt like hours. You know in movies when someone is screaming for help and the neighbors hear and come running and an ambulance is called and all live happily ever after? It's all a lie.

I scrambled from underneath him. I began screaming for help. Nobody heard me. I began CPR on him. I remember crying and begging him not to "make me do this".  I remember being filled with such hope as I blew life into his lungs. For a split second his color would return. But as I would pump his heart, his color would slowly ebb and he would return to grey.

After a few minutes, I knew nobody was going to hear my cries and that I would have to briefly leave him to get to a phone. Can I tell you that was one of the most difficult things I have ever done? It was only about 30 seconds, but I knew each second would count. I prayed that I would find wind beneath my wings.

I ran into the house and grabbed the phone and was dialing 9-1-1 as I busted back to him. Once the dispatcher answered, I threw the phone on the ground beside his head and began yelling into the phone that I needed help. Problem was, I didn't know his exact address, and I wasn't about to stop performing CPR again to find his address.  I gave them the address to my house and gave them directions to Ray's house from that point. I yelled his name to them and told them they had dang well better find me.

My best friend died in my arms.

I don't know if it was fate or some Higher Power that had intervened that day. I don't know why he was so insistent that I come right then, but I'm glad I did.

I wish I had something great and inspiring to say to end this. I don't. I know that I'm glad I listened to the "Jiminy Cricket" in my heart when he said to invite Ray over. I'm glad that I shared the last stage of his life. I'm glad that I was the one to hold him when he passed.

Listen. Watch. See. Feel.

I don't think those four things can lead you astray.