Farewell, Old Friend

Last Sunday I touched down in Salt Lake City after having been in the Houston area for the 2 previous weeks helping with flooding from tropical storm Imelda. It wreaked havoc on communities, forcing people from homes in the middle of the night. Many were unable to return for days and had to be cared for in the safety of remote shelters. It was during my work there and while meeting and making wonderful new friends, that I got word of the plight of another dear friend from back home. Earl Jacob wasn’t well.

I first met Earl in 2002 when my family and I moved into a lovely little neighborhood in Orem, Utah. We attended the same church services of a congregation that met in a chapel next door to our home. “Home” it quickly became as I got to know Earl, his beautiful wife Louise, and many other cherished neighbors that would become fast friends and in many cases, just like family.

Earl was a spry youngster in his late 70’s at the time. In all the years I knew him, I was amazed at his energy and stamina. He aged of course, but I honestly didn’t see a difference between him at 80 and the 90 year old outside doing yard work (and sometimes that was for other people as he pitched in to help on service projects and the like). He was amazing to behold, and I can only hope to age half as well.

In the culture and practice of my faith tradition and choice, we believe in prophets and apostles like Adam, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, and Moses from the Old Testament as well as Peter, James, and John, among others, from the New Testament. In a model similar to that, we believe that God’s influence is alive and well today, guiding people all over the world in a like manner. What does this have to do with Earl? Members the church to which I belong and acquaintances of my belief may be familiar with a now-parted leader and spokesman for my faith named Gordon B. Hinckley. He bore the title of President of the Church and that of a modern-day prophet of God. Being a man of no small prominence within my faith circle, my children, very young at the time, admired him and often prayed for his well-being. Being a part of a global church, neither I nor my children had ever met President Hinckley in person, but we were familiar with his kind smile and gentle voice from print, TV, radio, and the Internet. One Sunday we were just getting settled into our seats as we prepared for services when one of my children began to visibly beam, smiles and excitement spreading in an instant. Pointing, they exclaimed, “President Hinckley!” I turned quickly in surprise expecting to see who my kids had. Instead, but much to my delight in an entirely unexpected way, there was Earl Jacob, smiling back at the kids and looking at me with a slightly mischievous countenance, suggesting he knew and perhaps also understood the delightful misunderstanding of my children. Good spirited, and breaking neither his stride nor smile, he moved on to his seat and left me to explain to the kids who they had actually seen.

So yes, Earl did bear some resemblance to Gordon (said familiarly with respectful affection in each case), but especially and convincingly so to young eyes looking mostly at white hair, a slightly hunched back, an aged shuffle in his walk, and as noted, a calming and tender smile born of long life lived well. I suppose it was that last attribute that really was most similar between the two. Innocent eyes always seem to see the best in people and judge only by the kindest and most pure standards. (*Note to self: something to work on here.)

On another occasion, I was in Earl’s home with other visitors. I had been there that way many times as a friend for just a visit, helping others help him with some task, or being welcomed by him as he hosted a gathering of young people to get to know “someone of another time and experiences.” He was always gracious, patient, and kind. He was also good humored (as the last story illustrates). On one visit in his home with a group of youth and their accompanying adult advisers from our church, the kids asked him prepared questions about his time as a young husband and father, his decades-long career working in a then-local steel mill, his experiences in the US Army, and his thoughts on faith and other life perspectives.

Eating a treat they brought along to share, periodically cleaning frosting from his mouth with a napkin, he shared and shared and shared. Kids more typically “glued” to monitors and screens, were listening intently and engaging with questions. One well-meaning and very sweet attending adult, assumedly considering Earl’s age to be the cause for need, leaned in close to Earl and with an elevated voice designed to be heard by someone with failing hearing, asked him how he was doing? With exaggerated drawn-out tone, gestures, and an up-close-and-personal posture, this kind guest listened to his answer and asked a couple of follow up questions with like loudness, leaning in. The conversation ended and he immediately looked over at me, grinned, and shook his head with delighted amusement. I teased him later about his new condition of assumed hearing impairment. He laughed, clearly hearing me as he always did, and said, “what was that?” I laughed, not needing to repeat myself. Touché old friend.

Earl loved vanilla shakes with caramel mixed in. Not too much though. Don’t blend it all the way so that it was a caramel-flavored vanilla shake. He liked rich swirls and occasional full bites of caramel. It was always a medium too. The small cup was for children, he expressed once. “I eat ice cream like a grown man.” When I suggested he get a large then (after he ordered a medium), he said he didn’t want to get fat. Very good. Touché again.

Earl was hit hard when several years ago, his wife and dearest friend Louise, died. He wasn’t challenged by the thought of not seeing her again—his sadness wasn’t the tragic sort that regrets or laments with any kind of permanence. He just missed her sweetly and while still positive and optimistic, saw the world around him as a little less bright without her at his side. Somehow, I understood.

He joked with me sometimes that he was praying to meet a hasty end. His words were usually more descriptive. Stuff like, “I hope I kick the bucket soon,” or “when are they gonna let me graduate?” He even asked me once if I would “do the deed.” We laughed together and I said “no.” He frowned at me with an exaggerated face, and we laughed again. I enjoyed reminding him (and he clearly enjoyed hearing) that his friends were praying for him too. I told him, most certainly in jest and understood so by him, that the rest of us must have more faith though because we were praying he’d stay longer. I teased that because he was still here, we were winning! We laughed more. True to the goodness that was and remains Earl, if he was praying on his knees to move on, there was nothing in his actions while on his feet again that suggested he had ever given up. He hadn’t and never did. He continued to serve, befriend, and love many. I’d guess that there are a lot of people out there that think like I do, that they were his favorite. That’s how Earl made you feel. I’m not sure I understand completely how it could be possible, but I think everyone who thinks that of their relationship with him is somehow right. He loved so many, so well. And you felt personally important to him.

While away in Texas, a few good friends, each also close to Earl, reached out to tell me that he had taken a turn for the worst and wasn’t expected to live long. I was saddened of course and hoped I would be able to see him at least one more time. I flew in Sunday night hoping and praying for a few more minutes with my 95-year-old pal (he turns 96 in December). Monday evening I was finally able to visit. He hadn’t left yet, and I felt gratitude to heaven for the chance to sit with him and share some quiet time together.

Arriving at his rest home, I was surprised by mobs of costumed and excited children going from door to door with sometimes frazzled looking parents in tow. A Halloween activity was being hosted there and wonderfully, I saw youthful delight on the faces of the other elderly residents as they handed out treats and smiles. Just before those realizations, and for just a moment, I thought, “this isn’t what should be happening while my friend is dying down the hall—while his family and friends are preparing to say goodbye.” Some goodness greater than my own small store moved upon me though, and I felt peace, compassion, and comfort. That was followed by the satisfaction the scene really should have given anyone. A few moments late to that party, I still arrived. And moments after that, I made it to Earl’s room.

I left the bright light and gleeful noises of crowded hallways and entered to the soft glow of warm lamp light and purposeful, contemplative quiet. I greeted a few others gathered there before moving to Earl’s bedside. The door to his room was just slightly ajar, so you could still hear a little of the contrasting, though lovely, commotion outside. The scene painted a picture in my mind and taught me.

Outside the room was the quintessential image of the vibrancy of youth with all of its adventure, glee, and excitement. Inside the room it was solemnity, calm, peace, awareness, understanding, wisdom, and even reverence somehow that filled the air. Each was so wonderful to breath in. Life at the beginning on one side of the wall. Life complete, accomplished, and ending on the other side. Between the walls was a doorway through which each could pass, touching one another, influencing one another, learning from one another… Earl that night, or perhaps God’s holy Spirit through Earl, gave me a glimpse of the wonder of life at all of its stages. He helped me understand a part and parts of my own walk along the same path. Even in the leaving, he gave and gave and gave.

When I got word the next morning that he had finally, as we say, “passed away,” I was not happy but I also wasn’t entirely sad. It felt like I think it’s supposed to under ideal circumstances: like a friend long at work has finally been given some needed time off—like the chores of his earthly home are done and he’s able to go out and finally play, reunited with his beloved and others of friendship and kinship. It felt like that. It feels like that. So yes, I do and will miss him, but no, I don’t despair or fear for his state or condition as anything other than the most pleasant hopes and imaginations that faith makes way for in my heart and mind. I can’t wait to see him again. Not too soon, mind you, but see him again I believe I shall. Godspeed, my friend. Until we meet again…

Earl Jacob, 1923-2019