On Saturday, October 26, 2008, I learned of the loss of a good friend, Ross Edwards. I say “good friend” not for the length of time I knew him, nor for how often we kept in touch, but simply because the words embody Ross -- a good friend; a good man to all who knew him. In his 35 years he touched many lives, leaving a trail of joy wherever he went. Though the time I was privileged to spend with Ross might have been brief, it is time I will never forget.
I met Ross in the Fall of 2006. My Aunt Sallie (a.k.a. The World’s Biggest Gator Fan) introduced us. Now when you’re single and a relative starts talking to you about one of their co-workers, it can make you a tad nervous. (My mother’s view of attractive for example, is diametrically opposed to mine. I run when she suggests I meet someone.) Aunt Sallie, on the other hand, obviously has excellent taste.
Ross was a handsome, intelligent, caring, 33-year-old father of two, and had that special something about him. He was one of the rare people you meet who are truly genuine -- down to earth, easy to talk to, and fun to be around. He was someone who could instantly brighten your day, and usually did. If you’d lost your smile, Ross Edwards would find you one. And if he couldn’t, you probably needed medication. His smile alone was enough to lift your spirits.
I remember riding in his pick up truck out to this Historic Farm in Alachua with the kids. It was beautiful out, must have been 70 degrees and sunny, with nary a cloud in the sky. What a great day. There are few people in this world with whom you feel relaxed enough to sing in the car, particularly when you hardly know them, but Ross made it easy. He was singin’ too. You could totally be yourself around him, sometimes a little too much so. If I recall correctly, we got in trouble for feeding the animals at the farm and acting slightly juvenile. Not the kids mind you, but Ross and me. However, we also talked about grown up things like history, bio-diesel (which he made and ran his truck on), religion, books, relationships, and the future. We had both good conversation and lots of laughs.
Case in point, one evening the kids and I went with Ross to the University of Florida Bat House to watch the bats fly out at sunset. My son (4 years old at the time and forever curious) piped up quite loudly in front of what must have been 200 people, “Mommy, do bats have a penis?” I about died. Not exactly the word you want discussed when you’re first getting to know a fella. Ross quickly turned his head trying to conceal his laughter (and not wet his pants).
Unfortunately, the rest of the crowd was roaring, so my son kept repeating the question, louder still, for his new found audience. Finally, I pulled my son aside and tried to explain (very matter-of-factly), that yes, since bats were mammals the males were quite likely penis-toting creatures. However, we really did not need to discuss private parts at high decibels in a public forum. Geez. Thankfully, Ross had 2 boys of his own, so he got a big kick out of it. After that, we cracked up every time we thought about it.
Ross was also a man of tremendous potential. When we weren’t acting like children, we discussed the struggles we had each been through, what we’d done to overcome, and our individual hopes and dreams. Ross was not your average blue-collar worker. He had previously owned his own business, and despite tremendous financial setbacks (which were no fault of his own), his plan was to achieve millionaire status by the time he was 40. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind he would have done it either. He was sharp, determined, and hard working. His faith was strong. If there was a recipe for success, Ross Edwards was cookin’ it up.
And because he was such a likable guy, you really wanted him to make it, because good things should happen to good people. If anyone deserved to have the floodgates of good fortune opened for him, it was Ross Edwards. The man had a heart of gold. He was a perfect gentleman and one of the few men on this planet I have a deep-seated respect for. You knew he’d bless everyone on his way to the top and more so when he got there. That’s just who he was.
Ross helped my family in more ways than I can count. My Aunt was taking care of my Grandmother the year before she passed, and Ross did a million little things for both of them. He also helped me with my car and anything I needed when I came to visit, which was often that year. He was the type of person who would give you the shirt off his back -- always helping someone, and always happy doing so. When he couldn’t be with the sons he loved dearly, he was doing something for someone else. He was one of the first people to encourage me as a writer. At a time when believing in myself was an entirely new concept, Ross gave me hope. He was the kind of friend everyone should have.
In lieu of that, and in honor of you, Ross, I have decided to take up your goal of reaching millionaire status. In doing so, I would like to start a foundation in your name, to help other single parents get their lives back on track post-divorce and reach their own goals. That way you will continue to touch lives, give hope, and help others in this world, through The Ross Edwards Foundation. My goal is to do it by the time you would have been 40, which gives me 5 years. Doing it by the time I will be 40, well, that gives me... (insert educated guess here) not enough time. One thing I know is that you are one of the few people who would encourage me to make it happen. So why not try, right? And if you and Grandma send down some extra help, it just might happen. Speaking of Grandma, please keep her out of trouble for me. She’s probably doing something mischievous like trying to make it rain over Tallahassee again. What? You’re helping her?! Of course you are.
Oh, we will miss you, Ross. Thank you for bringing joy to all who knew you, and for all the help you selflessly gave to so many. Thank you for the brief time I was blessed to share with you. Thank you for your belief in me, and for your inspiration to never, ever give up. We love you.
