Saying goodbye to a mentor

On March 19th, at 10:30PM, in Riverside, California, a quiet and dignified man finally lost his battle for life.

It was neither unexpected nor sudden, but the tragedy of his passing is not diminished. With his health challenges, he was "living on borrowed time" since 1993, quite literally. Obviously God had him here for a purpose and nothing was going to take him off this planet before his work was done. This is the man to whom I owe so much of what I have today. My wife, who is the center of my universe, who gave me our beautiful daughters who are the light of my life, was the product of this man and his family. In fact, she is very much like him, with quiet gentle wisdom and a wry sense of humor like nobody else I've ever met.

Every major decision I have made in the past two decades has been under his guidance, for better or worse...worse being when I didn't take his advice. The latest being our move to Idaho. A man of few words, he would listen to me presenting a situation, and in a very few words would guide me to the answer. I think when we were considering moving to Idaho, and I called him, I must have spent 15 minutes laying out for him all the pros and cons of the idea. His answer was short and sweet, "If you have the opportunity to move my daughter and grandchildren out of California, do it".

Sometimes when I would call him, I think he just let me talk out loud, throwing out a word here and there, which really helped me sort through the myriad of options in my mind and deduce the right answer.

One of the best things about him was that he never judged, always supported, and always thought the best of me. Never did I hear "I told you so", but a gentle "what did you learn from your decision?".

He always like to say "you're my favorite son-in-law". And of course the requisite reply of "yeah, I'm you're ONLY son-in-law". He would always say "no matter, you're still my favorite". And that was that...it was settled.

When we would talk, he would always close with "take care of my daughters and granddaughters". The last night of his life, when he could no longer respond but he could still hear voices, my last words to him were "don't worry. I will take care of your daughter and our girls. You know I will.".
____________________________________

In memory of Ron Wilson (1938-2008). Daddy, you will live in our memories.