100 Years From Now

On Saturday evening the Fazzolari family met for a Catholic Mass in honor of Jeff in the small town where we all grew up. 'The Fuzzys' as we are known in that town got together, to celebrate Jeff's name, and although Carrie couldn't be bothered to make the 8-hour trip, she was beside us in the pew.

(Just kidding Carrie - that right there is funny, I don't care who you are).

We have unfortunately gathered in that church a lot recently, but this time, on a Saturday evening, there was a little more bounce in our step. We were kidding each other, smiling a lot more, and were genuinely pleased to be in one another's company. That is how it has always worked. We can make one another laugh.

We can also dominate a room, so in a church filled with people, I am sure that everyone knew the Fuzzys were there.

During the sermon, I scanned the faces of the townspeople who I've come to know so well. Mr and Mrs. Renaldo over there, Paris Bottoni sitting behind us, Foxy George busting my chops as he brought the collection basket to my side. Terrie Prime smiling at us during the sign of peace.

And for one reason or another, it got to me. The faces will change. In a 100 years from now, there isn't one of us that will still be kicking around.

I sure as hell better not be at 146!

And it also occurred to me that we are here for such a short period of time, really. We have a finite amount of time to make a mark, leave a legacy, and enjoy ourselves.

Why the photo of the Unabomber's cabin?

Because in thinking about our mortality, and seeing that the cabin is now for sale, I thought of the million and one ways that we can isolate ourselves, lose our minds and spiral out of control.

The group of Fuzzys gathered on Saturday night - truth be told - is doing their damnedest just to hang on through the storm. We aren't the only ones in such a position. People suffer tragedies every day. Ours are more pronounced because they are ours. Not any more or less important than everyone else's.

Yet there certainly felt like there was an appreciation of sorts going on as we helped Corinne celebrate her birthday weekend. A few of us went out to eat and Corinne and my boys brought the laughter.

And they brought it some more as they turned up the car radio and literally danced in the parking lot. Corinne kicking her legs as though she were Elaine dancing in the Seinfeld show, and my kids laughing all the way home at their crazy, wonderful aunt.

Making the mark.

Not giving into the isolation that can curb the enthusiasm for being alive.

I won't be buying the Unabombers cabin.

There's still too much to do. Because 100 years from now, people might still hear a few stories about the Fuzzys.

And that's how we want it to go.