My grandfather died last week – a few days after his 95th birthday. Perhaps it should not have been a shocking event….but it was. Shocking and sad.
The 11 hour drive to Western Massachusetts for his funeral gave me time to think about regrets and the 11 hours home gave me time to think about legacy. My heart broke with every mile.
My grandfather (affectionately known to me as “Grampa”) was a life-long dairy farmer – tough and stubborn with the work ethic of an immigrant and the moral clarity of a saint. He had the faith to endure the tough times…the grace to appreciate the good times…and the wisdom to know that neither last forever.
As with many of us who grow up and head out to conquer the world – I didn’t take the time to tell him that his lessons were learned and his legacy lives in everything I do. It is a regret that weighs heavy on my mind.
Did he know…
…I thought about him daily – often commenting that he’d disapprove of my dogs sleeping on the bed?
…I was listening when he told me to be sure the gas tank never dipped below a quarter and to change the oil regularly?
…the sound of Johnny Cash playing from the old 45 record player in the living room still lingers as a memory?
…I can still hear him saying “half the day is gone by 5am” as I stumbled out of bed at 9?
…I can still see him shaking the bottle of milk – mixing in the cream that had risen to the top?
…I learned the realities of life and death by watching the cows, chickens, pigs and lambs on his farm?
…I listened to the merits of locally grown food — as I rode along with him delivering eggs – and that I seek it out everywhere I live?
…I was aware of the battles he waged in my defense – even at times with his own family? Did he know his support mattered above all else?
…his example allowed me to know exactly what battles to wage and what lines to never cross?
…I still drink root beer — and that it reminds me of the home made birch beer he made for me as a child?
…I love the feeling of pressing seeds in the soil, the excitement of seeing them grow and the satisfaction of harvesting their fruit?
…I memorized every crippled turn on his rough farmers’ hands and loved to watch them as he sketched and painted?
As I sat in the small country chapel watching the spring rain fall on the newly sprouted grass and the horses graze outside – I was overwhelmed by the peace of it all. The peace of knowing his legacy lives in the children, grandchildren and great grandchildren who loved him so much. Just like the lessons of the farm – there are beginnings, middles and ends. Some are happy and others are sad – but each one offers us the opportunity to grow.
And so it is with regrets and legacy. With regrets come lessons learned and with legacy comes the opportunity to do it better next time.
In the end, I watched some family members scurry about — staking claims to this and that — while others simply wandered the land he cherished. Their own way of remembering, I guess. But for me it was simple, I picked up a smooth green rock that was nestled at the base of a big tree in the front yard and placed it in my pocket.
Strong and beautiful in its simplicity – just like my Grampa.
By Stephanie Koehler [email protected]
