This past Saturday, my husband John walked out the door to do a quick freelance job. He had recently been laid off as his employer closed the company permanently, owing my husband major money. Despite this, my husband worked with the owner gratis, trying to sell the company’s warehouse of video equipment for him.

People who met John called him a force of nature and Renaissance Man who could do anything and engage everyone. He could beat anyone at chess, sit down at the piano to play a song he had just heard, passionately debate Marxism versus capitalism, and always champion the underdog. Friends said he created a party wherever he went.

John never returned from the freelance job. “Presumed cardiac arrest due to hyperlipemia.” Today is Good Friday, a gloomy anniversary, as my first amazing husband collapsed and died on Good Friday of 2011.

What has stuck with me was something someone said, “Oh, Linda, Tom (first husband and former activist Catholic priest) has passed on Good Friday, so don’t worry he’ll rise again.” Guess I won’t hold my breath for either of these great men to return, but in my sorrow I’m grateful for having known and loved them.

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