Facebook gave me a gift today.
Not the kind wrapped in paper or tied with a bow. The kind that shows up quietly in your memories and knocks the wind completely out of you.
One year ago, I shared a picture of Marc in Alaska.
He was kneeling behind an enormous moose, grinning at the camera after doing something that, even then, felt pretty extraordinary. He had been living with cancer for almost four years. His body had been through more than most of us could imagine, and somehow he had still gotten himself to Alaska for an almost three-week moose hunt with his friends.
I remembered the picture.
I remembered the hunt.
I remembered being ridiculously proud of him.
What I didn’t remember were the words I wrote.
So today, I read them.
And there they were.
“Marc McDonald — you amaze me every day.”
“Your grit and determination over the last four years is unparalleled and your spirit is spectacular.”
“I’m in awe of you.”
I sat there staring at my phone.
He knew.
Oh, thank God.
He knew.
I have spent a lot of this year thinking about the things I wish I had said. The things I wish I had done differently. The conversations I would give anything to have one more time.
Grief is very good at handing you a magnifying glass and inviting you to inspect every imperfect moment of a life.
But today, Facebook handed me something else.
Evidence.
Before I knew I was going to lose him, I told him exactly how I saw him.
And he knew.
He knew I saw how hard he fought.
He knew I saw his grit.
He knew I admired him.
He knew I thought his spirit was spectacular.
He knew I was in awe of him.
Not because I whispered it beside a hospital bed when we knew time was running out.
Not because I wrote it in a eulogy after he was gone.
Not because I found beautiful words when there was suddenly nothing left to do but find beautiful words.
I told him while he was living.
While we still thought there would be more.
In fact, when I wrote that post, I was already telling the guys they’d better start planning the next trip. I was making jokes about clearing out the freezers for the moose and ordering crystals for the antlers.
Because, of course, I was going to bedazzle the fucking moose.
That was the world we were living in.
A world with a next hunt.
A next trip.
A next season.
A next year.
We had no idea.
Almost exactly three months after I wrote those words, Marc checked himself into the hospital.
Within a week, he was gone.
Three months.
It’s hard for me to wrap my head around that even now.
The man in this picture had just hunted a moose in Alaska.
Three months later, he would walk into a hospital and never walk back out.
That’s life.
And I don’t say that cynically.
I say it because I understand it now in a way I desperately wish I didn’t.
We don’t know.
We don’t know when we’re standing in one of the moments we’ll someday ache to have back.
We don’t know when we’re taking one of the pictures that will someday become precious.
We don’t know when something is the last time because, most of the time, it doesn’t announce itself as the last time.
Life just keeps moving.
We’re working. We’re buying groceries. We’re irritated about something stupid. We’re answering emails. We’re making dinner. We’re worrying about money. We’re putting off the trip because next year might be easier.
We assume there will be another Tuesday.
Until there isn’t.
And Marc, maybe more than anyone I’ve ever known, understood something about that.
He lived while he was living.
Cancer didn’t make his world small.
He went to Alaska.
He hunted the damn moose.
He slept outside and pushed a body that had already been through hell and laughed with his friends and did something enormous and ridiculous and spectacular because he was still here.
He left it all on the mat.
And maybe that’s why finding my own words today feels like such a gift.
Because I got something I didn’t even know I needed.
Proof that while Marc was busy showing me how to live, I was telling him that I saw him doing it.
He knew.
So maybe this is your reminder, courtesy of a giant Alaskan moose, Facebook memories and a woman who had absolutely no idea what was coming three months later:
Live big.
Take the trip.
Go to Alaska.
Hunt the damn moose.
Book the flight.
Wear the ridiculous shoes.
Buy the thing you’ve been saving for someday.
Call your friend.
Sit a little longer at the table.
Laugh too loudly.
Take the picture.
And for God’s sake, tell people.
Tell them you love them.
Tell them you’re proud of them.
Tell them they amaze you.
Tell them what you see when you look at them.
Tell them while they’re standing in front of you and can roll their eyes or laugh or hug you or tell you to knock it off.
Don’t save the good words for funerals.
We spend so much time believing there will be a better moment to say them.
There may not be.
A year ago, I had absolutely no idea that I was writing words I would someday desperately need to find again.
I was just a wife bragging about her husband.
Today, those words came back to me.
And they gave me something precious.
He knew I loved him. Of course he knew that.
But more than that—
He knew I saw him.
Because I told him.
And thank God I did.
Live big. Love people loudly. Leave it all on the mat.
That’s my guy. ❤️🩹
Jamie McDonald, September 22, 2025
And because these are the words that gave me this gift today, I’m leaving them here exactly as I wrote them one year ago:
“Well friends – the (almost) 3 week Alaska moose hunt trip is coming to an early close! Super proud of my guy for buckling down and getting it done. You’d never know what this guy has battled not only to get to this trip, but also to make a successful hunt out of it.
Two guys I especially want to thank for contributing to not only planning and participating in making this happen but also for always showing up. Jason Jameson and @tim kraft y’all are truly something special and I want you to know how much I appreciate you. Thanks for planning this milestone trip – y’all better get going on the next one! No excuses, you have my approval in writing!
Marc McDonald – you amaze me every day, but I’m truly blown away with this one. Your grit and determination over the last four years is unparalleled and your spirit is spectacular. I’m in awe of you. You killed it – no pun intended. The freezers are cleared and ready for your beast! And don’t worry I already started ordering crystals for the antlers!!Yay!
Here’s the pic y’all have been waiting for – prepare to be stunned! (And if you’re not into hunting, close your eyes and scroll on by!)
#thatsmyguy
#alpha
#beast #weregonnaneedabiggerfreezer”
