The Thrash Three: In Memoriam

John 14:1-4
Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.

On Sept. 4th my dad's life partner, Pat Baker, passed away. Pat was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer in Dec., just a few weeks before his 80th birthday. This is the tribute to him I wrote on Facebook:

Pat was a part of our family for 17 years. Half my life. I want to take advantage of FB to try and honor Pat and all he was...

Pat embraced me, my brother and my sister from the moment we met. Pat had a way of turning any stranger into a friend in 6.8 seconds. He had the gift of charisma. He had an infectious laugh and a sharp sense of humor. He was still cracking jokes in his last days. Pat taught my shy, introverted self the power of the human connection. It's largely because of him I mustered the courage to conquer my shyness and become an Alpha Gam, one of the best things that's ever happened to me.

Pat had more friends than I could count, and the majority of those were lifelong friends - fraternity brothers, childhood friends, business partners and associates who turned in to friends because that's what people wanted who knew him - to be his friend. They wanted to be his friend because it didn't matter how different he was from people - Pat always found how he was similar to each and every person he met. Pat was a successful, educated, affluent, man, but he could connect with the woman serving him his meal, or the valet parking his car, or the 20-something friends of mine in an instant because he loved people. He knew how to find that one commonality to put people at ease with him, to make them feel important and heard. He could work any room and taught me it doesn't take confidence, it takes selflessness. Don't ask yourself what others can give you, ask what you can give them.

Pat leaves behind his legacy in me and my family. Some day we can tell Will and my nieces all about him and what he taught us. And the stories - so much laughter in them. We'll tell them about his reaction when he found out my sister was expecting her first - "I'm gonna be a PaPa!" We'll tell them he was the best dance partner I had at my wedding. We'll tell them he was a fabulous entertainer - he could've made a run for Broadway. We'll tell them how he made us feel special, not just at birthdays and big events, but all the time. We'll tell them how he would talk to us for hours about our jobs, offering really sound advice that we came to rely upon over the years as we each grew in our careers. We'll tell them how he told us he was proud of us for working hard; he was proud of us for each and every accomplishment, big and small. He was proud to be PaPa to our children. He was proud to be our dad's life partner. He was proud to be our family.

Now we can be proud of him. Proud of his grace even through the pain and fear of his sickness. Proud of his bravery. Proud of his perseverance. Proud of his heart.

The nurse told us last night on our way out, after he'd been taken away, "I've only been with him since Monday but he was such a sweet man; so polite. It was a pleasure."

It was a pleasure, Pat.

We love you.