Jay Daniel Wold, 51, of Palmdale, CA died unexpectedly on January 7, 2015 in his home. Jay was born September 20, 1963 in St. Paul, MN, the son of James and Jean (Williams) Wold. He was raised in Fargo, where he graduated from high school. He married Desi Korgel in 1989 and they moved to California where he went to college and worked in sales. Survivors include his father, James Wold of Fargo, brother, Jeff Wold of Saudi Arabia, sister, Sara (Scott) Bleth of Horace, one nephew and two nieces, Mark and Lauren Richardson and Carly Bleth and many uncles, aunts and cousins. He is preceded in death by his mother Jean Wold, grandparents Clifford and Gladys Wold and James and Gladys Williams. Memorial gifts are preferred to the charity of your choice.

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  1. Know that even in the many months passed, Jay is still thought of by friends afar. A better place has summoned you to call it home, Jay, and your friendship is more spiritual than ever before.

  2. I miss you so much these days. I know you sense it, but I think saying it out loud is therapeutic for me. I allow myself to feel the sting of the grief, because some days that grief is overwhelming, and denying it would likely cause me to implode. I don’t try to damn the tears that fill my eyes and burn my cheeks. It’s moments of self-pity, and you would probably disapprove. I cry for me because I miss you. You’re not ever gone from my life. You’re the surprise of a cool and gentle wind in the middle of this harsh desert. You’re the earthy, fresh smell of cut grass. You’re the music of the crickets I hear chirping a symphony every night. You’re everywhere there is nature, everywhere there is peace. You’re where you always knew you would be when it came your time to move from the confining existence of human form. But your human form held your beautiful inner self, and I miss the parts of that form that allowed me to see you and feel you while we walked the earth together. I miss the way your smile would light up my day. I miss your sense of humor and ready laugh. I miss your understanding and your optimism and your eternal hope for better lives for all of us. Tonight I would give anything to pick up the phone and hear your voice on the other end, ready with some magical metaphysical question about the universe you wanted to discuss for hours. I miss you always, but tonight I miss you maybe a little bit more. I love you. I’m going to listen for you in the rustle of the trees tomorrow.

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