That’s Jeff and Trudy Birtwell in the photo. Jeff passed in his sleep while holidaying in Barbados last Tuesday.
Jeff was a relatively young man of 53 years old, and I say ‘young’ because I’m not that far behind. He was a bricklayer so he must have been healthy and fit enough but he died of a heart attack on holiday – sleeping with his woman beside him.
There are worse ways to go, and I admire the man after reading a news article from his home town Clayton-le-Moors in the UK. He leaves two fine sons who speak highly of him, as do many people, so says the local newspaper.
Jeff has me thinking about my own life tonight. Regular BFP readers know that I don’t have a steady woman or children. I have no legacy, no important things I’ve done and if the truth be known someone will probably have to hire people to carry my casket.
But after reading the newspaper article about Jeff’s passing in Barbados, I suspect that nobody will have to be hired to carry Jeff Birtwell on his final journey.
Good for Jeff. He went too early, but as I think about how he must have conducted his life to have the loving family and friends that he does, I find him an inspiration. Maybe I should conduct my life a little differently: call some friends, take Auntie to lunch once a month… maybe even find a good woman I could be loyal to.
Jeff… I didn’t know you, but I admire you. Thank you.
And Cliverton… pour me another two fingers of Mount Gay and we’ll toast a farewell to a good man we never knew.