I’m old school. I still subscribe to the daily newspaper. And most days, I read it.
I know – I can read it online. I do most of my communications with friends online (haven’t written a letter in years). I shop online. Research online. Waste time online.
But there’s something about the paper spread large across the breakfast bar, hot cup of coffee alongside, that my laptop has not been able to recreate. Yet. It’s coming, I’m sure. But not yet.
I look at every section, except the classifieds (unless I’m looking for something, or want to see the puppy pics). One place I spend time is the obituaries. I’d always heard people say that the older you get, the more you look at the obituaries – implying that there is some sense of morbid reality that death is nearer and nearer. It’s not that at all for me. I think everyone has a story – his or her life. And it is fascinating to see how people spent their time while here on earth.
Occasionally, I read an obituary and think, “I wish I could have known him.” Or I think, “People were blessed to have her in their lives.”
I wish I could have known Sean Robert Schultz. He died on Monday at 40, victim of a massive heart attack as he coached his child’s little league team. That’s a surreal picture in itself.
When you read Sean’s obituary, you see that he was married with one son. He was a successful entrepreneur, owning a carpet cleaning business with his best friend.
But it was the other stuff that he did that made me think, “wow, what a hole he is leaving.” He was past president of the Charlotte Jaycees , past president of the Queen City Jaycees, a lifetime member of the NCJC Cardinal Corps and a lifetime member of the USJCI Senate. He was a shriner. He founded Youth Harbor, a local children’s charity. He was a dedicated coach of the Myer’s Park Trinity Little League, and was “the best husband, father, brother, friend, son, coach, outdoorsman, and fisherman a person would ever have chance of knowing in their lifetime.”
Sounds like he was a good guy. I don’t think it’s a hole Sean leaves. I think it’s a legacy.
One last line from his obituary: “He was truly selfless and cared more about other people than himself. He was our hero.”
One of mine now, too.