There’s a point during funerals and memorial services where the mood suddenly shifts. Usually, it’s when someone recounts a funny story about the deceased that elicits a laugh, and then it’s as if a dam bursts and everyone is smiling, laughing, and remembering the good times. The pain is still there, but it does change what everyone is thinking. It’s no longer “I wish there wasn’t a funeral happening,” and instead it’s “I wish they were here so they could see everyone who turned up for them and laugh with us again.” People suddenly find themselves chatting with old friends, updating contact information, and generally bridging cracks that time and the vicissitudes of life have opened in old relationships. At the very best funerals, people leave with plans to see each other on their calendars and updated phone numbers. A couple of weeks ago, I attended such an event, and at the time of writing, I’ve got several calendar appointments that I am looking forward to immensely. The pain of loss, though unwelcome, has reopened doors that I hope will not close again.
Ten years ago, a truly unforgettable funeral occurred in Park City. It feels wrong to describe the life that was cut short by a head injury as “promising” because that implies that there was potential Sam hadn’t yet measured up to. I’m sure there was, but everyone who knew Sam Jackenthal will use different words. His father, Ron, described him to me with an actual twinkle in his eye: “A bundle of bright light and positive energy. Just an infectious personality.” His memorial service, held at the Utah Olympic Park, immediately rippled outward into the assembled community. Sam had that kind of effect on people. Ron explained, “Wherever anyone met him, they would remember it. He was a larger-than-life personality.”
Even that feels like an understatement to me. When your peers are paying tribute to your memory by performing aeriels off of ski jumps into a pool while fireworks fill the air, I reckon you’ve managed to fit more living into 16 years than most people can into decades. A life that vibrant has real power to unite people, and it wasn’t long until the words “Fly Sam, fly!” appeared on tunnel walls in spray paint. Another slogan soon followed, an admonition from his many friends: “Live like Sam.”
Live Like Sam is, in addition to a memorial slogan, the premier youth mental health and development nonprofit currently operating in Summit and Wasatch Counties. The Park City-based foundation currently provides more than $500,000 worth of free counseling and mental health services to youth in communities throughout the region each year. It was born from the donations and initiatives that grew out of the community in the wake of Sam’s passing.
“For the first five years, we didn’t have a foundation; we had a fund where people could give money, and we would donate it to other nonprofits that helped kids. Character development scholarships and things like that,” Ron said. Today, Live Like Sam sits at the center of an entire network of nonprofit groups all dedicated to improving the future of Utah’s youth by helping them navigate crises and the challenges of everyday life.
After spending significant time processing his own trauma and loss, Ron began working with organizations that support grieving parents across the country. What he saw inspired the modern foundation: “I saw a pattern pretty rapidly, where 80% of the teens dying around the country were dying of overdose or suicide.”
He explained, “It sparked a look into the full-blown mental health crisis here in Utah. Suicide is the second leading cause of teen death in Utah. Close to three-quarters of kids in school districts along the Wasatch back are clinically depressed. Nearly 50% need some sort of clinical intervention.” Ron and his associates had found a massive crack in society, and with the help of a community eager to contribute, Live Like Sam was poised to help fill it.
Jessica Parker, the foundation’s programming director, and resident of Heber Valley, is currently in charge of running wellness and life success programs for all ages. Jessica has more than risen to the challenges the foundation faces. She originally came to Utah to be a ski instructor, but her background working with nonprofits soon led to a serendipitous meeting with the Jackenthals, and she has been working tirelessly ever since to spread the message of Sam’s unique life.
“All of our programming is designed to fill different cracks people might fall into. We have Sages and Seekers for connecting kids to trusted adult mentors in their lives. There’s our Digital Wellness Program for healthier habits with technology. Thrive teaches wellbeing skills. Challenge Accepted is all about stepping outside of your comfort zone to find friends and try new things.
All of these programs have stemmed from conversations in the community, talking to teachers and students we work with,” she tells me. “People reach out to us wanting to get involved. We get coffee, we have conversations, we put our finger on the pulse of the community. We’re trying to speak to youth; lift them up, give them purpose, give them leadership.”
And the youth do lead. High school students organize and volunteer for elementary school programs. A local 6-year-old, himself an adopted family member, organized a community-wide event for adopted people to connect to each other and share their stories. The Thrive program, a free six-week Zoom cohort, provides a $60 research stipend to all children/teens who complete the program, which enables them to easily get into hobbies, clubs, or other programs that will help young people connect with their peers and the broader community.
I didn’t know Sam, and I’m never going to be able to tell you what his favorite dinosaur was, but I can tell you that his legacy is a living, breathing thing that is inspiring and helping people every day. And that’s the sort of thing that inspires you to seize the day and wring some joy and purpose out of it because that’s the best thing any of us can do. Joining other people who feel the same way is what Live Like Sam is all about, and I figure that together we can seize a lot more day than we can by ourselves.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some people I have to go laugh with over a board game. I might cry with them, too, but I think that the little piece of someone irreplaceable we will all be carrying with us would be a little disappointed if that’s all we got up to.
Learn more: livelikesam.org
