A man died on Monday. He was not wealthy or famous. He was just an everyday hero. He was a dad and a granddad and a great-grand-dad. He was a loving husband. His wife was gone a few years, but she was always in his heart. There were others he had lost, including a first son, who were also in his heart and mind every day. He lived a fairly long life, though if he could have been in better health, he would have chosen to live longer; wouldn’t we all, if we could make that rule?
He worked a long life, had many jobs, did them well. He read books. He listened to music. He watched movies and television. He had hobbies. He had friends. He had things in life that gave him joy, and probably a few that irritated or even angered him. In his last years, his body began to fail him, bit by bit. If he were wealthy or famous, he might have had the resources to push back the failings of his body for a while longer, supplement his physical failings with technology, fix up parts that were breaking, perhaps even replace them with new parts. But he did not have those resources, so that wasn’t an option.
This man’s story is the story of life. Not a life abruptly ended (though it did end abruptly), but one lived mostly to conclusion. The legacy of this man’s life is not an oeuvre of paintings, novels, films, theatrical performances, sporting events, political achievements or awards. The legacy of this man’s life is the people whose lives he touched and changed–the friends, the family, the co-workers, the everyday people he knew, and the church-goers he interacted with. That legacy lives on.
I am grateful this man brought the woman who became my wife into this world and that she ended up with me.