Those of you who know me fairly well will be aware my Grandfather died recently. To me, he was calm, wiry humor, tight hugs and unquestioning support. Although I didn’t get to know him as well as I might have liked, I always admired him and wanted to make him proud.
I’ve always been a very driven person and losing someone close to me made me so much more aware, as I’m sure it does for most people, that you never know how much time you have. I get scared sometimes, thinking what if I die tomorrow? What if I’m just suddenly gone and I haven’t achieved anything worth remembering…
Lol. What if everyone hates me for never finishing my book series?
It’s taken me a while to process everything, but I realized that wanting to be remembered is silly. I mean, practically speaking, perhaps my friends and children might remember me, even my grandchildren, but given enough time and enough generations, everyone is forgotten… or turned into legends that bear no resemblance to the real people anyway (I doubt I’m legend material).
My grandfather’s life meant different things to the different people who’s lives he touched, but for my part, I’m proud to say he was my grandfather. He lived with integrity and courage. He loved my grandmother and all his children and grandchildren, and we loved him in return. I have no question that his life was full and complete and you know what? I think that’s enough.
So whether I live to twenty five or ninety five, if I’ve lived with integrity and love, the rest is just a bonus.
Thank you for being awesome Grandpa ❤