This past March I got an e-mail from an old friend, Bob Allison. Here’s part of it:
Bob I and spent quite a bit of time together when I was selling radio back in the late eighties and early nineties. We’d have lunch, go golfing together every now and then, and even had dinner with our wives once.
While Bob wasn’t a close friend, he was a good one, and I’ve always cared about him.
This past week, I got a call from another old friend, Bill Jensen. Bill was my sales manager at KLSY radio and also a man I golfed with, hung out with and truly enjoyed.
During the long conversation Bill and I had on Monday night, he dropped a bomb. “Jim, Bob Allison died.”
It staggered me. I’d meant to get back to Bob. Have that cup of coffee. Catch up. See where his life was headed. But I didn’t.
Bill Jensen saw an article about me in the Seattle Times and meant to call, catch up, see where my my life was headed. He did.
That person you’ve been meaning to call? Call. That e-mail you need to respond to? Respond.
It turns out Bob was addicted, drugs had him spiraling down a path he couldn’t escape from. I wish I’d had a chance to offer hope, offer encouragement, offer love.
I did have the chance. I didn’t take it.
Make the call.