Today’s Daily is an homage to a great man who lived well and died fiercely.
Jeffery Horr Johnston was born on October 5, 1951 in New Jersey. He would have turned 70 years old today, October 5, 2021.
The following words were written and read at the celebration of life for Jeffery Horr Johnston on May 22, 2021. Jeff died of symptomatic complications from a bone marrow transplant on March 25, 2021. His obituary can he read here.
Admittedly, releasing these words into cyberspace unlocks layers of vulnerability. I do not know what emotions might arise after hitting the “publish” button or in the moments after, but that’s life – you never know how you’re going to feel once something or someone leaves your hands.
Thank you for reading.
Hi everyone,
In October of last year, six days after Jeff’s 69th birthday, Jeff and I sat right over there and had a conversation about values.
What he values, what his values are. Loyalty, trust, and respect – the bond, and not the kind you trade.
What he values most, he said, is memories. Making them, sharing them, retelling them, and laughing his ass off at them.
The man might not have opened his wall for much, but the glimmer of a good time put his pocketbook at ease.
Whether with work buddies or riding brothers, Jeff balled out. He played as hard as he worked, and with all the people gathered here today, we have the honor of witnessing all sides of that balance he bore so well.
Unlike anyone I have ever known, Jeff knew the value of things and of people.
His respect was earned – believe me, I started on the other side of that equation.
Over the years, we built our relationship in a way that neither of us anticipated. Love, respect, and admiration grew where there was none.
He swallowed his pride more often than I gave him credit for, for putting up with a punk teenager who thought she knew how the world worked.
Years later, I know less even though I’ve learned more, but some of the most important lessons that I have learned came straight from the son of a Horr.
Jeff’s keen sense of value meant he knew the true weight of responsibility and the gravity of commitment. He loved my mom more fiercely than we will ever truly understand and I know that I speak for many when I say that I’m better for having felt the warmth of their fire.
Their patience and grace toward each other over the years was a thing of wonder. Through their perseverance and dedication to each other, they showed me the best of what love could be.
I learned a lot from Jeff and I believe I will continue to learn from him through his words and actions and the dynamic memory of both.
Jeff’s impact is as clear as the force of his presence. The love and sorrow that has poured out of our family and all of you in the last 58 days, both here and far is truly remarkable.
A man who means so much to so many brought us all here today. But why? Why is any of this happening? To put it bluntly, why did Jeff die?
Sure, there’s the medicalized roadmap laid with landmines that Jeff diligently championed throughout his life. And sure, there’s the fact that everyone dies, eventually.
But none of this helps – none of these lines of reasoning help me, my mom, my sisters, any of you, I’d imagine, make meaning of the devastation and loss of Jeff’s death.
How do you make sense of something that sucks so profoundly hard that it blows the anguish of the pandemic out of the water? Going a step further, why make sense of it at all? What’s the point, if Jeff isn’t there to hash out all the details with later?
I wondered what Jeff would say. Last week, the answer came to me clear as day.
Jeff Johnston, the man who took every challenge in life and each grueling step of treatment head on, the man who demanded bad news be delivered straight down the pike, no bullshit would simply say: accept it.
Accept it and keep going. Keep going with all the sadness and pain and frustration, and be grateful for all the love and joy and life you have.
Keep going, keep working, keep living your journey. And whatever you do, hold onto your memories and keep making them with people you love.
To my mind, memories are the only thing that we can make in the present that preserve the joy of the past and promise a laugh in the future.
A lifetime of value.
So in Jeff’s honor, let’s do what he values most: let’s make some memories. For him, with his spirit, and today, of all days, let’s share and make memories about him. Let’s laugh when we cry and sing while we weep because yesterday is gone and today is all we’ve got.
Keep in touch.
Species of Value 