In Memoriam

Fred Marsh, my godfather, died last night. He was 57.

He had been battling cancer for a long time. By the time he knew he had it, it was too late for anything to be done. It had metastasized before they even knew it existed. He fought for as long as he could, but there was never really anything that could have been done.

But if there had been, he would have done it.

Fred and his wife Linda had been friends with my parents for over thirty years, I believe. They had met in college. They...I don't know enough about that period in his life to really write much about it. I know they had a son, David, who was born just shortly before my sister was. I know that there was a falling out between Fred and Linda and my parents because of this, because both Linda and my mother had been trying to have a child for a long time and Linda succeeded first, and my mother was very upset. That's all I know. That's not really his story, anyway.

Fred was a man who loved to laugh. I wouldn't go so far as to say it was his defining characteristic, but anyone who knew him knew about his sense of humor. He couldn't seem to let a conversation go by without letting slip a few witty remarks. Not at other people's expense, though. Never to harm. Only for fun. He was a naturally cheery person, and this cheeriness reverberated from him so strongly that it was impossible to be sad or upset in his presence for very long.

He bought me the fourth Harry Potter book for my twelfth birthday. I remember I was staying at his house at the time, I used to go up to stay with him and Linda every so often. I couldn't stop reading it. Harry Potter books have always had a great fascination with me; the first time through, I can never put them down. At three o'clock in the morning, I remember him finding me reading by flashlight and telling me I should go to bed. But not with any heat. He let me sleep in, and finish the book the next day.

I remember going with him and Linda to a vacation spot in Vermont, the name of which I cannot remember for the life of me. Had something to do with thieves...Thieves' Creek or Robbers' Gorge or something like that. David was with us, I think. Time erodes memory. We wanted to go to see Niagara Falls in Maine, but for some reason this was unavailable. The time I spent there was a lot of fun, not least because of Fred. Fred could make a root canal seem like a good time, if he was there.

I don't know this. I wasn't there. I don't know if I'll ever know for sure. But I would bet everything I own that he kept a smile until the end.

He took me to the Ben and Jerry's factory, in Vermont. We went on a tour of the place. I answered questions about the ice cream and got a free sample to take home with me.

We went minigolfing. We explored a woodsy area with a ravine that I nearly fell into. Every time I came up, he would take me and his family to Legal Seafoods, an amazing restaurant. Doubly so in New England itself. It must have cost him a lot of money, it's not a cheap place. Even so, we always went.

I'm going up to his funeral this weekend. Fred specified that afterwards, he didn't want a traditional ceremony. He wanted a party. A party to celebrate the good times of his life, not to mourn and mope about his death. Yes, I'm sad. I've cried some, I'm crying a little now as I write this. It's only right. He was too good of a person not to be sad at his passing. But he didn't want us to be paralyzed with grief. He wanted us to remember the good times, and think of him with smiles, not tears. And so a party we shall have.

It's traditional at this point to say "He was a good man, he left an impact on those around him, yadda yadda yadda." Well, the reason things become traditional is because they work. Yes, he was a good man. But he wasn't just...A lot of men are considered "good" just because they aren't actively bad. They're just inoffensive. Maybe they give to charity, maybe they buy a round of drinks for their friends. Maybe they adopt a puppy from an animal shelter. All good things, certainly, but that's not what makes a man truly a good man. That just makes him a man that does good things.

Fred was a good man because he loved life, and he shared that love with everyone around him. He always kept his spirits up. He was happy, and not the kind of fake happiness people put on like a mask to hide despair. He was genuinely happy, and believed that the world was a place that could do well with a little more laughter. He believed this so strongly that it burned, like a flame that was bigger than he is.

He did touch those around him. I'm convinced that I'm an actively better person for having met him. He taught me not to take things too seriously, to always try to enjoy yourself...to keep a smile on, a real smile. To keep a good attitude. I remember that his basement had a bunch of cartoon books that I read over and over again. That's probably what started me reading humorous material, which started me reading everything I could. Without him, I might not be a writer. And this is just my story. I don't know how he left a mark on everyone else, those are their stories.

I remember him telling a joke and laughing, laughing so infectiously that I started to laugh with him even though I didn't get it. I laughed because he was. If he was laughing, I thought, there must be something funny. There always was, with him.

I remember him smiling.

I can't remember him any other way.