My paternal grandfather died in 2018. He lived a good life.
It’s funny, when people pass away, everyone mourns in their own way. His death has me thinking inward, mostly.
As my father, his brothers and sisters (there are lots of them) and their wives and husbands (there are lots of them), and their children (you guessed it, there are lots of them), and other family members share their memories, I find myself thinking mostly about his legacy.
I find myself thinking about his life.
What he did.
What he left.
I think about family.
May I offer but a few numbers:
85 years on God’s green earth.
One war fought in.
One marriage — to the love of his life.
Sixty five years of marriage — some better than others, most better than most.
Ten children.
Eight daughters and sons in-law.
Seventeen grandchildren.
Two grandchildren in-law.
Two great-grandchildren.
One life.
One legacy.
This past weekend, the family came together for his calling hours, his funeral, and a gathering to further remember the impact he had on us all. During the family calling hours, his greatest impact on the world — family — was crystal clear. Simply put, I’ve been to weddings with less people than my grandfather had at the private family hour at his wake.
When my wife and I were getting married, a friend warned us that the day would be so overwhelming that we need to remember during the ceremony to step away from the festivities to see it in all its glory. To this day, seeing the swarm of people celebrating our marriage is one of my most vivid memories from that day. I employed this trick during my grandfather’s wake and that’s when it all hit me. Nearly 50 people in the immediate family — that he and my grandmother started — coming together to mourn, hug, cry, and remember. It was beautiful.
As you may, or may not have, surmised from the above statistics, my first cousins are on the young side — most of them finishing high school or in college. I am the second to arrive of those 17 grandchildren. I was the first to marry and those two great-grandchildren are my kids.
I can’t help but feel a personal and perhaps unique pull while I mourn. Most of my cousins — not to mention many others — are sharing on social media pictures and memories. While I, of course, have many of those to share, I feel compelled to mourn in my own way — in a way that fits my own circumstances.
I am a father. I am a husband. It’s from this perspective I mourn. And, it’s in this respect, I feel I can most honor my grandfather.
While I don’t have 10 children who will spawn 17 grandchildren, I have my two.
While my wife and I still have 55 years to match my grandparents in holy matrimony, I consider myself lucky to have matched my grandfather in the “love of our lives” category. We’re even: 1–1. I can only hope and pray that she puts up with me as long as my grandmother did him.
I feel myself taking a step back as I mourn, examining, and celebrating my grandfather’s life. And, my vantage point is from that of a father and a husband.
Of all the great things he did with his years, I find myself most impressed by the size of his impact — however you may try to quantify it. I call it his, “legacy.”
As a self-proclaimed family man, I am in awe with what he built and can only hope to emulate what he started.
Even before his death, I’ve thought long and hard on my legacy. I so badly want my children and their children and their children’s children to share positive, proud, happy, loving memories of me when I’m gone. It’s one of the pillars that drive me every day. It’s one of the missions that steer me through this crazy life.
My grandfather achieved that. I consider that a life well-lived.
