The Extra Moment
A Year Without Gregg Masters
His eyes, that’s the thing I remember the most.
They had a richness to their icy blue hue, a glint that he had a magical knack for harnessing at just the right time. Those eyes could convey sternness as easily as merriment. Intensity as easily as contentedness. I miss looking into those eyes and trying to parce just what Gregg Masters was thinking. On this forum, you didn’t have to wonder, he told you. You could practically feel that same glint within his words.
It’s been over a year since Gregg’s last post. As many of you already know, he passed away after a valiant fight against a sudden illness a few days later. Today, December 18th, is the anniversary of his death.
As his son, I feel obligated to mark the day with all of you. I still feel his loss deeply. I can still hear his advice (both in matters of the head and the heart) every day.
I never met Gregg’s father, who died a few months before I was born. I don’t know what his voice sounded like, or if his eyes would also crinkle when he was about to serve the punchline to a joke. All I have are the stories imparted to me by my father. The wisdom passed down the old way, by taking a moment to impart a story from the past.
In a few short weeks, I will become a father myself. It is very bittersweet. I desperately wanted them to meet. With the blessings of modern technology, in a way, they can. My child will one day listen to and read their grandfather’s words directly. Knowing this, I can’t help but gravitate to one of my father’s favorite words.
Gratitude.
I am so grateful for each moment I had with my dad, even the sad ones. Especially the sad ones. I am so grateful that he was able to wrestle with his disability in a way that led him to talk about life with such compassion and vulnerability. And I am glad he was able to do this with all of you online, many of you directly, and with me daily.
I miss him greatly, but I am so grateful.
This holiday season, take in the moments. All of them. The moment outside your car, in the cool twilight, to take a deep breath before walking into your family gathering. The moment to hug your loved ones just a second longer. The moment to see someone less fortunate and empathize with their struggle, even if you cannot help directly. The moment to allow yourself to simply understand how miraculous it is that we can even do any of this.
It’s all a blessing, just like he said it was. Just like he is. He lives on in our love, in our gratitude. In our moments.
Take that quick moment for him. He’d love that.
Mason, while my husband Ken Yanzy and I have never met you, I feel like "the apple didn't fall too far from the tree." :-) You write beautifully.
Ken and I got to spend time with him during 'runs' through McDonald's and to the doctor appointments, and through these, we had a chance to get to know this unique guy.
Thank you for remembering your Dad's special presence through your posting; it gave all of us the opportunity to once again express our appreciation of him. With the birth of his grandchild, the Masters' legacy lives on, and you and your wife will have the opportunity to share about those loved ones and those values you hold near and dear to your hearts.
I so look forward to an update on the arrival, and wish you and your wife and your "first" a prompt and ease filled delivery (since neither Stork nor Amazon are involved). ;-)
God Bless you all in 2025...
Sandy McGhee
I was a first cousin of Gregg's grandfather Gene and did not see very much of him after he was very young, so was thrilled to get back in touch through this column. We would have really enjoyed each other, so I'm grieving not knowing him better. Mason, you have my deepest sympathy and my prayers for the past year. I'm so glad you had such a good man for a father.