The Christmas remembrance of someone who shaped life and business
My father-in-law was the epitome of the man, the myth, the legend. This Christmas marked the second without him, and his absence still feels unreal. For more than 25 years, he was the gravitational force behind some of the best moments of our lives: legendary Fourth of July gatherings, unforgettable Halloweens and Christmas Eves. He was the magnet that held us all together. I don’t think he enjoyed anything more than being surrounded by his people, and everything seemed lighter when he was around. He was a large, looming presence—someone who commanded respect the moment he entered a room. But anyone who truly knew him understood how misleading that First impression could be. Beneath the stature and the seriousness was a man who was warm, welcoming and endlessly human.
If you didn’t know him well, you might have been a little tentative at First—until he cracked a joke or ashed one of his trademark smiles, the kind that instantly dissolved any barrier between the two of you. He had a gift for making people feel seen. He could give you a nickname and somehow make it stick in a way that felt meaningful, almost ceremonial. For me, it was “Lawrence.” My entire life, I’d never allowed anyone to call me anything but Larry—certainly not Lawrence. Yet from the very rst time he said it, it felt natural, affectionate and earned.
After he passed, his brother picked it up where he left off , and somehow that name carries even more weight now. It’s a small thing, but it means everything. You can imagine the magnitude of losing someone like him. My wife’s life has been irrevocably altered. There is a hole that will never be filled, and pretending otherwise would be dishonest. He was the anchor of her family—the steady presence everyone orbited around. He set a standard, not through speeches or grand gestures, but through consistency, integrity and showing up. He is the example I can only hope to live up to for my own children.
I wish we all had more time with him. That wish never really goes away. But I am profoundly grateful that I had any time at all—that I was welcomed into his life, into his family, and into something I didn’t even realize I was missing. I came from a misfit, dysfunctional family. I never truly learned what family was supposed to mean, nor did I understand the depth of loss that comes when something solid disappears. I also didn’t know how to show up for others in that way. Being part of his family taught me those things. It showed me the quiet power of stability, support and unconditional presence. It made me realize how rare—and how valuable—that kind of security is. My children are growing up with something I never had: the knowledge that they are held, supported and safe. Not everyone is born into that, and I don’t take it for granted. I don’t fault my family for what they couldn’t give; many factors shape the circumstances we’re born into. In an imperfect society that rewards abundance and exploits scarcity, some outcomes are tragic but unsurprising. Still, that doesn’t diminish the gratitude I feel for what my kids now have.
The year 2025 has been particularly difficult. There’s no way around that. But as it comes to a close, I find myself ending it with renewed purpose. I’ve never been one for New Year’s resolutions. When I was younger, I lived in survival mode and felt invincible—or at least pretended to be. Over the past couple of decades, and especially the last several years, I’ve learned the truth: I’m not invincible. Security is eeting. Time is finite.
That realization has sharpened my focus. There are things I’ve allowed to drift, priorities I need to reclaim. I want to be more diligent, more intentional—about growth, peace and about showing up fully. I want to create more space to focus on my work, to better serve those who trust me, and to build on what we’ve already achieved. I want to be a model for what a business should be: principled, reliable and human. Busy is a double-edged sword, but it’s better than the alternative, and I don’t take your calls for granted. Navigating the calls is a challenge that I will continue to focus on with new tools and strategies that scale with our growth without sacri cing responsiveness.
The past month was a struggle. But I won’t rest on my laurels. I owe that to my family, to my kids, and to the example set by a man whose legacy isn’t measured in years, but in the lives he anchored. And in that way, he’s still holding us together.
Please email me at lansingallstar@gmail.com.
