His wife died many years ago. And he never remarried. His house was an old wooden relic from the glorious farming days of the Mississippi Delta. The house visibly leaned to the left. Wooden slats were tacked awkwardly on the exterior wall in a poor attempt at repair. It was a quiet place, sitting on the edge of a cotton field, just off the two lane highway. It rested underneath a thicket of trees that came up from a large ditch out back.

My job was to keep him healthy with preventative medicine. He was a great patient, very compliant. He took his medicines and did all the things his doctor asked of him. I’d like to think I kept his failing body out of the hospital, but the credit belongs to him.

I couldn’t get him to talk much about his life. He would direct the conversation back to me with a kind smile, and ask, “How is that pretty little wife of yours?” Then off I’d go, talking about myself and my life again while he listened intently.

The medical part of our visit was often easy, so it left us plenty of time for wonderful conversations about real life, real living and real love. I was there to make him better, but I think the other way around is what really happened. He eventually told me he once was a pastor of a small church during the fifties and sixties. One day, he walked me to the spot where that little “shotgun church building” (he called it) once stood. It literally fell from disrepair. Now it is merely a large pile of decaying wood, barely visible underneath the weeds that have overtaken it.

One day I simply thanked him for something he said in a conversation we had. He had told me a few things that I applied immediately in my life. To say he was overjoyed and grateful is an understatement! Apparently I validated something in him, like I had confirmed he was living from a greater aspect than himself, and his situation. He humbly and joyously thanked me in return! He said he was honored that he had really helped me.

The beauty of that “thank you” was, it made us both better, because I felt great too. I couldn’t imagine making anyone any happier! Telling someone “thank you” does as much for you, as it does them.

For that year and a half I spent with him, it was obvious he was a great man and a wonderful person. Because of his isolation, I felt as if the whole world was missing out. He had a large family, twelve children and countless grandchildren, but they never came around that I knew of. A time or two he just mentioned, “Well, they are all just too busy and live too far away,” and appeared to have no hard feelings about it. But because he was so invested in people and didn't have any one come around, I felt sad for him, even though he didn’t.

One day, I pulled up to his house. I parked in my usual place where I had worn out the grass that served as a driveway. You could hear cars approaching for miles, and he usually was standing at the top of his steps when I drove up. He’d greet me with a smile and a handshake, but not on that day.

To make a long story short, he had simply died in his sleep. He was gone. Three days later I went to his funeral.

I was shocked when I walked into the funeral home! His casket was engulfed by mountains of flowers. They lined the walls from floor to ceiling, spilling through the doorway and into the halls. Hundreds, yes, hundreds of people, crammed the funeral home, testing its capacity.

For a moment I thought I was at the wrong funeral or maybe he had another life I didn’t know about. All these people, it looked like a funeral for a dignitary or public official, not that of the isolated elderly man I knew from the edge of a cotton field.

Soon I recognized one of his sons and another daughter from the outdated, curled up pictures he had taped to his walls. I thought I recognized a few of his grandchildren. But they looked to be ten years older than the pictures he had.

Once the eulogies started, I was amazed at all the people who told stories how he touched their lives. He had influenced in some way every person in that room, each from different phases or chapters of his eighty years. It was great to hear their stories. I imagined how joyful he would celebrate to hear all of this.

Then, I got a little angry after several of the people who eulogized him confirmed my feelings. They regretfully admitted they never told him how he impacted their lives. And trying to do so, on this day, sold him short of the victories he rightfully shared with them. I got a little testier in my thoughts. Knowing how isolated and alone he was the last year and a half of his life, I wanted to stand up and shout, “Well, I agree, it’s a little too late now, don’t you think?”

In closing, what is the harm in letting the people who have impacted your life, who have made a difference, large or small, know about it? Don’t assume they just know.

My sister Laura calls this “flowers while you’re living!” Go tell those people in your life. Seize the first opportunity you get! Doing it later may be too late. Lose your guilt or shame. A simple “thank you” will go a long way. And trust me, both of you will be better for it.

People all around you could benefit from your gratitude. They are your family members, teachers, preachers, policemen, soldiers, coaches, co-workers, clerks, waitresses, nurses, doctors, city workers, and the list goes on and on. Without these people in our lives, we would be alone and on our own.

In this day and time I am sure everyone could use a “thank you." Gratitude is like a bouquet of flowers that lasts forever and never wilts away.