George Bailey had nothing on Marty Stebbins. They both were characters, but only one was real. Only one goes to his grave knowing that his was, indeed, a wonderful life.
My friend Marty died Wednesday, a scant few weeks from his 82nd birthday, his terrific wife Rosie and loved ones by his side, the victim of an inhumane devil called dementia. At the end, Marty’s ability to think, make decisions on his own and remember the many remarkable snapshots of his days were all severely impaired. The good news is that those of us who knew him and loved him will never forget.