Word came yesterday evening that one of my best friends and the man to whom I literally owe my life passed away yesterday. Ted Lane was a rare human being who lived his life in as close to constant contact with Spirit as anyone I’ve ever known. He was the creator of an amazingly helpful healing technique called Patternology, which changed dozens and dozens of lives, including several in my family.
Ted had a congenital disease which by all rights should have laid him to rest many years ago. More than once, doctors told him he was in his final days or weeks of life. Time and again, Ted and Spirit — an indomitable duo if there ever was one — rebounded and proved the medicos wrong.
We worked together for nearly 20 years refining, documenting, automating, and promoting Patternology. Being a perfectionist, he never quite brought himself to release his miracle discovery to the broad attention it deserved. Perhaps he was intended only to plant the seed and see it through to early adolescence; others may pick up the mantle now that he has released it by his passing.
Ted was one of the most consistently optimistic people I’ve had the pleasure to know. No matter what setback or challenge he faced, he could always be counted on to find the silver lining and the life’s lesson. In each obstacle, he saw opportunity. I could always count on him for an emotional lift when I needed one, and often when I didn’t even realize I needed one.
On the first day I should have died, Ted appeared at my house. I still don’t know how that happened. Maybe we had a scheduled meeting. Maybe my wife asked him to come. Three days prior, I’d been in the ER and been diagnosed with “pre-pneumonia” and I was still feeling really lousy from that multi-day experience. I didn’t have any of the classic symptoms of heart attack, so when my wife Carolyn tried to force me to call 9-1-1 or get someone to take me to the ER, I resisted. I didn’t want to become “that guy.” Ted walked into my house, took one look at me, said, “Your skin is gray. I’m calling 9-1-1 and I don’t care if you get so angry you never speak to me again.”
Less than 20 minutes later, I was on a gurney in the trauma room at the local ER, my wife by my side, when I heard the female doctor say, “Code. He’s having a heart attack right now.” She said to my wife, “You’ll need to leave because in a minute this room is going to be filled with people who need to be here.”
It turns out I experienced what doctors call the “widowmaker”; upwards of 85% of people who have one don’t survive. And if it hadn’t been for Ted, I’d have been at home, alone with my wife, when it hit. And I likely wouldn’t have made it either.
So, Ted, I still owe you one, my friend. I wish you Godspeed on your new adventure, with gratitude for all the ways you changed my life and those of people I love. You are a hero.
I’m missing you already.