Business Lessons in Unexpected Places: Being Grateful in Grief

This has been a hard autumn. The kind of hard that you know no one else quite understands, even though they sympathize. But perhaps that’s why, as I sat down to think about this Thanksgiving entry of Business Lessons in Unexpected Places, the first thing that came to mind was being, unexpectedly, grateful even in my recent grief.

On October 6th, my world changed. My mentor, and I’ve come to realize, the major father figure in my life (though I’m sure he would have much preferred major “Cool Uncle” or “Brother” figure), Jim, Died.

His death was sudden and unexpected. He had only just turned 60 a few weeks earlier and was in good health. It fell on my head like a ton of bricks. For days, though I knew it was true, I couldn’t respond to the dozens of texts messages I got asking me about it. To say “yes, it’s true” was to admit something I had no desire to confirm.

I cried a lot, especially when people told me how proud he was of me (even now, the thought makes me tear up). Eventually, I made the obligatory post trying to explain what Jim had meant to me given the decade we had worked together. It was pale and inadequate. The phrase “I don’t know what I’m going to do without him,” circled my brain.

At Jim’s celebration of life, I had trouble going into the room. Pictures of him in, all aspects of his life, universally respected businessman, rock and roll bassist, mentor, friend, family, champion chili chef, swirled around the Convention Center screens. I could almost hear Jim chuckling and commenting on the pictures in my head, but he wasn’t there.

So where and when do we get to the grateful? It was hard for me to see then, too.

After the ceremony, a small group of us came back to the building where we all work, Jim’s building. We sat, and we talked. We talked about Jim, but we talked about other things, too. We stopped for a minute, and we were just… together.

Since October 6th, I have become closer friends with people who had always been “around” but who I’d been too busy to stop and really connect with. Ben Whalen and Haley Brooke, Kathryn Ganiene, Jim’s wife, Bobbie. I’ve also taken the time to get connected again with old friends, Daniel Sant and Bob Thames, Luke Lee, Hilton Nicholson.

Their new and renewed presence in my life doesn’t fill the space Jim’s passing left, but rather makes that now empty room feel less lonely.

His passing reminded me not to wait. If something is important, do it. Take the time for your friends and your community. If you love someone, tell them, and keep telling them.

The other thing I’m grateful for is my renewed desire to give back.

Aside from the obvious constant that we all shared about Jim’s passing, the crushing grief, I’ve noticed another universal thread. He made us all want to do better, to BE better.

Jim did for others. He didn’t talk. He did.

Computer labs for kids in need? He didn’t just donate the equipment, he crawled around under the desks and set everything up. Businesses that needed a little leg up to succeed? He’d open his contacts up without a second though or question. Community organization or event in need of sponsorship? Consider it done (heck, I have a picture of Jim’s IT company’s logo on a Zamboni for the local AHL team).

Jim didn’t talk. He did. And he made us all want to be doers too.

Over and over again, the people I’ve spoken to since his passing say the same thing. “Jim did so much. He impacted so many. I want to do more for the community. I want to be like Jim.”

If that’s not a legacy worth building, I don’t know what is.

So, this Thanksgiving, despite, and in some ways because of, my grief, I am thankful. I’m thankful that I got to learn from Jim. I’m grateful that I’m in the place that he built, running an organization that he dedicated so much of his life to.

Most of all, I’m grateful that the world gave us Jim.

It wasn’t for nearly long enough, and I would give just about anything to look up right now and see him sitting at his desk, but no amount of time would have been enough.

That’s just the guy he was.