I had just started to drift off to sleep when the sound of my husband’s voice woke me up suddenly. It was after midnight and I had spent the evening out with friends, drinking wine, sharing a few laughs and anticipating a family trip to Atlanta the next day.
“I need you to wake up. My dad fell and it’s not looking good,” he said in a tone I never heard in nearly 11 years of knowing him … and hope I never hear again.
My incredible, vibrant father in law was 84 years old. It sounds old when I say it, but Norman did not in any way seem like someone who was about to leave us. Anyone who was lucky enough to know him knew he lived a very rich and engaged life.
Norman and I were incredibly close. I used to say that he forgot I was married to his son – we just had this great connection that turned into long chats about every subject under the sun. But it wasn’t until he passed away the day after his fall, that I truly understood the depth of his life experience.
Here are just a few of his examples that serve as lessons for all of us:
- Norman kept making new friends until the end of his life. The day after he died, a man he met through a local camera club came over to the house to share wonderful stories about his shooting adventures with Norman. We had never met this man (who comes from a completely different background than Norman and is much closer to our age), but his sentiments were healing at a very raw time. And there was a line of other acquaintances behind him who did the same, either through conversation or letters.
- Norman was equal parts interested and interesting. Years ago Norman bought one of those conversation-starter books filled with intriguing questions that make introverts squirm. By the time I met him, he had committed the questions to memory. But he didn’t need a book; he was just plain interested in everyone and everything. His questions of me ranged from why I only painted my big toenails (old pedicure!) and why I was eating pretzels while drinking coffee (I was a constantly snacking, invariably tired breastfeeder at the time) to how I ran my business and what book I was reading.
- Norman never stopped making. A prolific photographer and painter, Norman was constantly creating. In this beautiful video tribute filmed and produced by my husband, he tells the story of how he had to relearn how to hold his pastels in order to compensate for a “dead” thumb. His quote says it all, “You know … I had to paint.” Norman completed his last painting on a Wednesday night and was gone by lunchtime on Friday. Amazingly, his last few pieces are arguably his best. And now his legacy lives on not just in our hearts and minds, but on our walls.
- Norman was a perpetual student. He literally took 84 college classes (classes, not credits) during the 15 years of his retirement. We used to say to him that he must be a legend on campus among the professors as well as the undergraduate students. His typical response was, “No, those kids see right through me.” We were proven right when the dean of the art school and one of his favorite professors turned up at his memorial service. He earned enough credits for a PhD, but we were thrilled when they made him an honorary alumnus.
- Norman always had his nose in a book or a magazine. One of his favorite places was Barnes & Noble. Norman would sit in the cafe and sketch patrons as they drank coffee, read or talked to friends. His own night table was stacked with books and magazines. About a month before he died, he gave me the December issue of Elle. In addition to art, he loved fashion and was a long-time subscriber to that and other magazine titles. He also kept a few books about words next to his bed. One is a combination dictionary-thesauraus, which is now in my bedroom. The other day, my daughter’s friend wanted to look up “majestic.” She said, “Whoa, this word’s definition takes up more than a page!” When I asked her what it was, she said, “It’s make.” Norman certainly proved that was a word with an extensive definition.
Reading through the cards and letters received over the last couple of weeks, I noticed two words that kept reappearing: exciting and infectious. I would venture to say those words are more often reserved for people many decades younger than Norman. I hope to live my life with a fraction of that passion and I will honor his memory by heeding these and other invaluable lessons he taught me.