I don't blame my in-laws for assuming I would only be a fleeting part of their daughter's life

From left, this was Judy, Terry, me and Tom on our wedding day (June 6, 1992). I'm sure Judy and Tom did not see this coming when they first met me six years earlier.

Today would have been my in-laws' 63rd wedding anniversary. Tom and Judy were married on July 1, 1961, but sadly, neither is still around to celebrate the milestone.

I vividly remember the first time I met them. Terry and I had been dating for a couple of weeks when she brought me home for the first time in mid-March 1986. I feel like it was a Saturday afternoon, but I can't be sure of that.

Tom and Judy were relaxing in their living room when we walked in and Terry introduced me. I was on my best, most polite 16-year-old boy behavior and said something to the effect of, "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Ross."

They returned the sentiment, but in a decidedly half-hearted way. It's not that they were impolite or anything, but they didn't leap out of their chairs to greet me, either.

The reason for this, I found out sometime later, was that they figured I wasn't going to be in the picture for very long. According to Terry, they thought she was in a fickle stage and would be moving from boy to boy for the foreseeable future.

I was also a kid from school and not someone from church, which undoubtedly colored their initial assessment of me somewhat.

We all know how things turned out, of course. I stuck around for the rest of both of their lives. (And let it be known, a few years after Terry and I started dating, I also began regularly attending the Church of the Blessed Hope. So really, how bad could I have been?)

I've always found this story to be funny, but I've also reached the point in life where I kind of get it, too.

Terry and I have raised five kids into adulthood. For better or worse, we know how most high school relationships end. Tom and Judy had no reason to think the kid in the jean jacket standing in their living room trying to impress them would play any role in their family's long-term future.

What were the odds they would never manage to get rid of me? As my dad would have said, slim to none, and Slim just left town.

Yet, in the face of any reasonable expectation, here we are.

I miss them both. Before they each passed away, I would have appreciated one more opportunity to look them square in the eye and say, in all sincerity, "I told you so."

The Oasis in our backyard lives up to its name

This is a picture of our back deck, and specifically what it looks like in the summer when we get down the table and chairs and plant stands and other paraphernalia that get crammed onto it every May and taken off of it and stored away in November.

We refer to this area as The Oasis. The name belies the small size of the area (in truth, it's not an especially large deck), but it fits with its psychological importance within our family.

The Oasis is a place to go outside and read by yourself in the morning. It's a place where squirrels come to eat off of Terry's corn-baited squirrel picnic table, and birds land to eat from her feeder attached to the garage window.

Maybe most importantly, it's also a place where some combination of family members will regularly gather to sit, talk, and maybe imbibe a glass of wine or a beer.

It's exactly what the word "oasis" implies.

I mention all of this because of the particular role The Oasis played exactly one year ago today.

A year ago last night (at 12:55am, to be precise), my mother-in-law took her last breath. She was surrounded by her husband and three children at the time, which it seems to me is exactly as it should be.

That next morning, bleary-eyed and exhausted, a group of us spent a couple of hours sitting around The Oasis table and just talking. We talked about memories, we talked about the events of the previous evening, and we talked about how different the future was going to be.

The important thing is, we talked. And I think that helped everyone deal with Judy's loss just a bit better.

Whatever it is and wherever it is, I suppose everyone needs an oasis in their lives.

Two important things you can do to comfort someone who has lost a loved one

If my mother-in-law was still with us, today would have been her 78th birthday.

She is not here, however, as we lost her to lung cancer last summer.

This kind of thing is obviously not unique to my family or anyone else's. Death is a part of the human condition, and people have been dealing with it in their own personal ways for thousands of years.

I think it's the milestones you encounter in those first 12 months after a person passes away that are the most difficult.

First they're gone one month. Then two. Then three. Then comes a major holiday like Christmas, your first without them. Then comes their birthday. And then comes the one-year mark since they've been gone, and you can't believe it has been that long already.

There are at least two things Terry and I learned when our mothers passed away within three weeks of each other.

One is the value of a meal. When a friend experiences the loss of a loved one, you may see a rush of people stepping up to provide a home-cooked dinner for them or a gift certificate for food delivery, and you may think, "They don't need more food."

In our experience, there is no such thing. For at least the next few weeks, the last thing that person is going to want to do is cook. They can always freeze what you give them. Trust me, the meal you provide will be greatly appreciated and gratefully consumed. Food is, interestingly enough, one of the greatest gifts you can give.

The other lesson is this: After the initial rush of condolences and the memorial service, you will go back to your normal routine, but the person who lost the loved one is still experiencing a lot of pain. Reaching out to them a week later, or two weeks later, or a month later (or on one of these milestone days) just to say hello, see how they're doing, and asking if there's anything you can do for them, is the kindest of gestures.

And again, if you haven't been there yourself, you don't know how highly appreciated it will be.

So happy birthday, Judy, even though you're not here so we can give you a card and a gift.

And remember, little things mean a lot when you're trying to comfort someone who is just beginning the grieving process.

Death and taxes: You learn to live with both

That old saying about death and taxes can take on new meaning the older you get.

Well, the death part does anyway. Taxes are taxes. You may choose to complain about them (which is pretty useless), but you either pay them or go to prison. I choose to pay them.

Just recently Terry and I filed our federal, state, and local/regional tax forms, as we do most years in early to mid-February. We like to get it done early, and for a long time I've used TurboTax to make the job easier. I'm a big fan and recommend it to almost anyone.

As for death, well...it's about as preventable as taxes, and even more useless to rail against.

I don't mean to be Davey Downer here (NOTE: Davey is Debbie's younger brother), but it's coming for all of us. First it gets those you know and love. Then it comes for you.

That's just the way it is.

Have a great day, everyone!

Seriously, though, death doesn't worry me so much. Whenever it's my time, it will be my time. In the overarching scheme of things, the length of my life on this earth doesn't really matter all that much.

But that doesn't mean I don't get a little sad over the reality of it sometimes.

I know people who have experienced far greater loss than me, but I've now lost my mom, my dad, my mother-in-law, and one of my sisters.

That sister, Judi, would have turned 68 years old today.

She seemed so youthful that a 68-year-old Judi is a little hard for me to comprehend. I'm sure she would have made 68 look good, though.

She also would have continued to love and spoil my kids in that way only the best aunts manage to do. My sister Debbie has more than picked up the slack, but I do miss Judi whenever my kids experience any sort of milestone.

Graduations, marriage, first jobs, etc. As our children have experienced these life events over the last 11 1/2 years, they have done so without Aunt Judi there to celebrate with them.

That's the part that hurts the most, I think.

Same for my dad, and more recently, my mom and mom-in-law. I wish they were all still here for so much of this stuff.

Something happens and you think, "Oh, I need to call and tell Mom." And then there's the dull, painful realization that Mom isn't there to take the call anymore.

Part of me gets sad over that, and part of me simply sighs and moves on.

What else can we do? It's either accept it or allow ourselves to be paralyzed by sadness and grief.

Mom wouldn't have wanted that. Nor would Dad, Judi, or mom-in-law Judy.

I'm getting old, I guess.

But for the time being, at least I'm still here. And so are my brother Mark and my sister Debbie.

And that should count for something.