Memorium

It's been a fast couple of weeks since I last wrote... and in that space of time I have been dotting the midwest and southern landscape of the US with travel. First, my grandfather passed away November 6 and I was able to find an inexpensive flight to travel back to Kansas to celebrate his life with my extended family.

My Grandad, Junius, was 84 when he passed away. He spent the better part of his life (65 years) married to my grandmother, and had done so much with his life that I found out all sorts of new things about him even at the funeral. (Who knew he helped start a hydroelectric plant in Ecuador that is still running today? That he had been so involved in Christian Radio?) That he had impacted many people's lives was no surprise to me. Out of his five children, 18 grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren - only one of the grandkids wasn't at the funeral (and for good school-related academic reasons!) Grandad's visitation was jam-packed, standing room only, with people doing what should be done at a funeral.... they were celebrating a life well-lived, with laughter at the past, tears of bittersweet joy, and gladness in knowing Grandad was no longer suffering in heaven.

I tried to write down some thoughts about him (though brief with limited time in school now):

Few people are blessed enough to encounter, not to mention, know a great person in their lifetime – and I’ve been extremely privileged to be related to such a rare and wonderful person. Grandad was a legend for all the grandkids growing up. I remember wondering how he could know as many people as he did, because everywhere we’d go (from Pub ‘n Grub in Green Mountain Falls, CO to a local breakfast place in Lawrence, KS) we were bound to run into someone Grandad knew by name. The part that was always inspiring to me too, was that everyone we encountered always seemed genuinely happy to see him. When I was younger I remember how special the entrance to Pub n’Grub (now Black Bear) on Thursday nights would be with Grandad. Cy and the gang would play “Pennies From Heaven” and hands would raise and wave as we would sing along with the personal dedication to Grandad and Nonny.

There are at least three genes I hope I’ve inherited from Grandad. First would be his wit. (Okay, I admit that’s too much to hope for. We all know he’s funnier than any of the rest of us could ever wish to be.) Yet whenever a situation seems too stressful or too serious, I think of Grandad and his ability to say the perfect thing to make everyone relax and laugh.

I’d also like to have his great mix of genius and people skills. He was a mastermind at engineering and business, and he never tired of watching the stocks on the news or reading articles on investing. But he was also such a loving and kind man when it came to charity and giving. I remember hearing people (in the numerous places we’d randomly encounter them) thanking him for different ways he’d helped them – he helped people get jobs, get through tough spots… not passing up opportunities to make other people’s lives better.

Lastly, and most importantly, my grandfather was a man of faith. To many people, faith is confined to Sunday mornings and mealtime grace – but Grandad considered his whole life, in all its entirety, to be a means of showing God’s grace to the world. There is a tendency at times like this, where a person who has gone to glory is somehow idealized. But what I remember about my wonderful great Grandad was that in his faith he never claimed to be perfect. I consider him a model of greatness not because he was somehow perfect but because he did what he thought was best, but was humble in giving God the glory for all the blessings he received throughout his life.

I am selfish in being sad that Grandad is gone, because HE is obviously in a much better place. But I had always wanted my future husband and children (if I have them) to meet him and see what a really great man looks like.

The evening after the funeral, just several people were left at the house, and I was talking with my grandmother in the kitchen. I said to her, "This all makes me think of what I want people to say about me when I die." Nonny's response was quick and seasoned with wisdom - she couldn't have been more right, "That's not important, Abbie. What's really important is what God says about your life."