A Year of Tears and Gratitude

I didn’t know that it was possible to cry every day for a year.

I now know that it is.

I guess in some ways I should consider myself lucky. I learned this fact relatively late in life.

Some people learn it in childhood for various unfortunate reasons.

I was blessed in my naïveté for a long time.

My brother and only sibling died unexpectedly one year ago this week.

His name is Jeff Levine. Some of you may have known him. He was Program Director at both WBAB and WLIR on Long Island. He was also an Executive at Newsday, The Hartford Courant and the Sun Sentinel.

While his career resume was impressive, it was the lives he touched, changed and helped guide that would have meant more to him than any job title he ever had. Sadly, I don't think he ever realized his impact. My family and I hadn't realized its magnitude until after he passed, and the stories and tributes came in.

As my big brother he had me playing "radio" since the time I was a toddler. With his giant ‘70s headphones on, I would record the commercials that we wrote together into his little portable tape recorder.

A few years ago, when I was working at KLOS in Los Angeles, Jeff and I were talking about my career, he asked me why I went into radio. He thought it was a weird "coincidence" that we both "wound up" in broadcasting. I was incredulous. "Because of you," I said, "I wanted to be just like you!" All these years he hadn't a clue.

Wouldn't it be fantastic if we told people how much they meant to us, and how they changed our lives while they are with us, instead of writing on their Facebook memorial page or saying it at their funeral?

We spend our time and energy striving for careers, titles, good salaries and social media-ready moments designed to impress. When we look back at the end of our personal journey, none of the things that we have been taught to value really will have been of value in the meaning of our lives.

It's who we touch and how we impact them positively that is the true meaning of success.

Ironically, (or maybe not) a few weeks before my brother died, he wrote my parents a letter outlining the unique things that each of them taught him that had contributed to the man he had become.

I would imagine that this is the most precious gift that they have ever received.

I wish I had done the same for him.

To be seen, recognized, valued, and to know that you have helped raise others up in a world that is designed to push them down is my definition of a life well-lived. You don't to have a prestigious title, a fancy car, or a large bank account.

Do you know someone who has made an immense impact on your life (maybe even through a small gesture) that they are not aware of?

Tell them. Tell them now. Tell them while you have a chance to say it to them and they have a chance to hear it.

"There goes my hero...he's ordinary.” -Dave Grohl

In next week’s column we'll talk about your "drug" of choice.