#169: Mr. B

I remember the day Amanda told me about what happened to Mr. B. We were walking in the woods by my house and I felt the weight of her words seemingly increase the gravity in my footsteps. Suddenly the forest seemed quieter...you could hear our steps....things moved more slowly...and it was just us. I listened to everything she told me about Mr. B...feeling like I had come to know him a bit myself. Or, at least I would have liked to. I think that when someone touches our lives and we share stories about them with others it has that effect on people. Their spirit quite literally comes alive in us....we can feel their presence...and maybe we are even able to carry a bit of it forward. 

-Jaime

Mr. B

The only thing better than my internship this past year was the person who led it. It has been over a month now, and I still find myself unable to process the tragic and unexpected passing of Mr. B - a person with an extraordinary soul, who inspired me since the first day I saw his radiant smile. 

The internship that I spontaneously decided to take on last semester was geared towards harnessing the therapeutic healing power of nature to support young adults with disabilities. My three co-interns and I planned an engaging activity at a different nature park once per week. The internship/program we were leading was titled Nature and Nurture and partnered with another incredible agency titled, “Life Transition Skills” (LTS). LTS has the “aim of developing and empowering youth & young adults with intellectual differences in achieving their full physical, emotional, intellectual, social, and spiritual potential, as individuals, and as independent, responsible citizens and members of their local communities” (LTS, 2017). The program is incredible because of its leader. 

I met Mr. B, the executive director, back in September. He was late to our meeting, but stumbled into that Starbucks with the biggest smile on his face. He carried such high energy yet also had such a peaceful way about him. 

At the conclusion of the very first event we attended a couple weeks later, Mr. B gathered the group all together and called participants over one at a time. 

“Jimmy, tell Amanda where you work every weekend and how you get there…”

“Gabby, share with Amanda the job you applied to last week.” 

“What bus route do you take to get there, Joey? And tell her about where you live now!”

I think Mr. B’s smile grew by the second that day, the joy spreading across his face and over onto others as he listened to the participants' success stories that he had already heard many times before. 

Mr. B worked in the public education system for a few years before deciding to lead the LTS program. He wanted to do more specifically for young adults with disabilities, providing them with more meaningful, individualized accommodations so they could make a smoother transition into adulthood and live a more fulfilling and autonomous life where they make their own decisions and support themselves. 

I looked forward to every event on Friday - to see Mr. B full of joy, to see him engage with seventeen different people who clearly adored him in every way, to be a part of something that reminded me of the simple pleasures in life and the importance of presence, being fully immersed in nature with people that viewed their surroundings in an even more unique way than I could. 

Whether it was singing karaoke in a Winnie the Pooh costume for the Halloween party, gathering pine cones for the participants who are blind to smell, or greeting us with a warm hug at the start and end of every single outing, Mr. B always carried a huge smile on his face. 

It’s been extremely difficult for me to process his passing, even accept. And I just can’t even begin to imagine what it’s been like for his wife, four young boys, and seventeen LTS participants that he shared his tremendous love and care for each day. I know the many roles he held in this fragile world could never be replaced.

As I reflect, I realize the countless things he taught me about this life. When I was struggling with overwhelming stress and anxiety and doubts and fears last semester, seeing him on those Friday’s graciously pulled me out of my own crazy head and into the hearts of others. And as I was considering how to close this tribute to Mr. B, I happened to come across this daily energy card at my sister’s house that day that read: “Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this 

light.”

Mr. B effortlessly rekindled mine. And I am forever thankful.