Held
On loss, faith, and what we build that lasts.
I didn’t post this morning.
If you’ve been reading The Jenn Files for any length of time, you know that’s not like me. I show up. It’s one of the things I’m most consistent about.
But yesterday I couldn’t write. I needed to cry. So I did.
Randy Skoglund passed away just after midnight on March 9th. He was at home, surrounded by his family.
He was 55.
I wrote about Randy a few weeks ago. The award-winning digital strategist, the founder of Orange Hat Group, the guy who helped me figure out my first Google ad campaign when my pet services company was just an idea with a lot of hustle behind it. His family used our service. That’s the kind of people the Skoglunds are.
When I wrote that piece, Randy had just entered hospice care. His wife Kieta posted the update. Reading her words, “he would want me to thank all of you,” I had to put my phone down and just sit with it for a while.
55 years old.
At the same time, another family dear to mine is preparing to say goodbye to someone who lived to 82.
I grew up in Des Moines. My brother and I grew up alongside this family’s kids. Our parents have been close for decades, the kind of friendship that outlasts zip codes and job titles and every version of the life you thought you’d be living by now.
Their son posted today. He called his father’s passing:
“not a sad goodbye, but a celebration of his temporary life here.”
His sister posted a photo of a bench. A small metal plaque.
Dad. Loved and Remembered.
That’s it. That’s the whole thing.
I’ve read that line from their son a dozen times today. For those of us who share a faith in God, the belief that this life is temporary and Heaven is real, those words are comfort. For those who are still working out what they believe, or who have walked away from faith entirely, I won’t pretend I have all the answers for you.
What I can tell you is what I know to be true for me: both of these men are in Heaven. And that certainty doesn’t take away the grief. It just means the grief has a container.
If you’re somewhere in the middle, not sure, or curious, or maybe just cracked open by a week like this one, I want to offer something simple. You don’t have to be in a church. You don’t have to have it all figured out. God doesn’t need your perfection. He just needs your sincerity.
Lord, I believe you are real. I believe Jesus died for me and rose again. I’m not perfect and I don’t have everything figured out. But I’m asking you into my life. Forgive me. Lead me. I’m yours.
That’s it. No performance required. Just a conversation with someone who has been waiting to hear from you.
Two men. Two families. Two different numbers on the calendar.
I want to be careful here, because I don’t think 82 means a life more fully lived than 55. Or 55 more than 30. Or 30 more than 20. A life well lived isn’t a function of years. Tragedy strikes at any age. Loss is loss, no matter the number on the banner. What we can control is what we build right now, in this season, at this age, with the time we actually have.
Neither number tells the whole story.
What tells the story is what held.
Randy held. His wife’s words held. His family’s grace in the hardest days held. The community that showed up, all of you who sent messages his family read to him at the end, that held.
And an 82-year-old man who raised a family, a beloved wife, children, grandchildren, who can look at his death and call it a celebration. That held too.
I wrote in February that what falls apart reveals what holds.
I still believe that. But I’ve been sitting with another question.
What are you building alongside the business?
Because the business will have seasons. Revenue goes up and down. Markets shift. Clients leave. What you build alongside it, the relationships, the people who will sit with you, the ones who will read your messages to you at the end, that’s the part that doesn’t depreciate.
Randy knew that. His whole career was about connection, helping people and organizations reach each other. He lived it too. The proof is in every message Kieta has been reading him.
And then there’s Gary.
Gary Karr, whose birthday piece started all of this back in February, messaged me today to make sure I’d heard the news about Randy. We don’t talk every week. We don’t talk every month. But the moment it mattered, he showed up. That’s the friendship that picks up exactly where it left off, every single time. I consider him one of my dearest friends.
That’s what I mean by what holds.
If you’re in the middle of your build right now, head down, pushing hard, telling yourself the relationships can wait until you hit the number, I’m not here to lecture you.
I’ve been exactly there.
This past Friday, one of my dearest friends said goodbye to her cat. It was a hard week for a lot of people I love.
But I will tell you what I know now that I didn’t know then: the people are the asset. Everything else is just the vehicle.
Chase what lasts.
Randy’s memorial service will be held in Alexandria, VA on March 21st. A celebration of life will follow a private burial in West Des Moines, IA on April 10th. Details will be posted on CaringBridge as arrangements are finalized.
To Kieta and the Skoglund family, thank you for sharing him with us. We are better for knowing him.
If this resonated, subscribe to The Jenn Files. I write about business, money, resilience, and grit, cutting through the noise so you can build something that can’t be broken.
“Build what lasts…..” enough said!
Thank you for those kind words. Rest in piece, Randy, your memory is indeed a blessing.