Legacy 10/16/2022

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

I can’t promise that this will be a particularly lengthy entry.  And yes, I must admit that part of me probably just typed that because every time in the past I have prefaced a blog with that then I usually end up with an excessively long product and I have to go back and remove said preface.  But today, I feel like it might just possibly be true, so I assure you that I didn’t solely in fact write that in hopes to add content. My thoughts for the day all started with my morning commute. If I’m honest this is from where much of my writing inspiration comes.  It was a very specific chain of events that seemed to come together to build my thought process this past Friday morning as I drove to work. And so now I share these thoughts with you. Again, I must warn you, what I cannot guarantee in quantity I am hoping like the dickens to make up for in quality.

It was one of my standard commutes to work. It was a bit earlier than it usually is because my daughter had a late start at school. This meant that my mom was going to take her to school while I got to go in to work roughly an hour earlier than usual.  This gave me the privilege of seeing far more of the colors of dawn.  The sky was glowing in shades of orange and pink.  The beloved autumn morning mist was everywhere.  Every pond had a full cloud of its own hovering above its surface.  There were several tucked away meadows where milky wisps were exuding from the very ground.  But don’t worry. I am not going to go on ad nauseum about these things as I have assuredly done before.  It was in me treasuring these moments and trying to milk every ounce of value from this day that reminded me of what I had ahead of me.  I knew this day was not going to be an average day.  On this day I would have to leave my workday early because I had a funeral to attend. A bit before noon on this day I was going to honor the life one of the more amazing men that I have ever known. 

I hadn’t even had the privilege to know him that long.  I had known him, really known him, only a few years.  He attended my church and there was absolutely no way you could not love him once you got to know him. I had heard him repeatedly refer to himself as a country bumpkin, yet he could impart immense wisdom in the simplest conversation. He was as plain and simple as they come. He wasn’t particularly keen on filtering himself, so he didn’t bother with doing so.  This led to him being occasionally abrasive and frequently hilarious.  Even when he was characteristically blunt though, somehow it still was endearing.  He was the type of guy that it took you perhaps a few weeks at most of knowing him and you would find yourself with the feeling that was he was an uncle or some other beloved family member that you didn’t realize you had.  I must admit that when he and my father were at my home at the same time I on more than one occasion almost went and rubbed his head as I often do to my own father.  Maybe their heads look similar or maybe he just exuded that much of a familial air.

He loved his wife to the point that he was angry that she married him because he was positive she could have done better. He worshipped the ground that woman walked on just shy of idolatry.  His children adored him. And we aren’t just talking typical, of course they love him because he’s their dad, type of adoration.  These kids knew just how amazing their dad was and in turn, they have become amazing in their own right.  His children and grandchildren are just one aspect of the legacy he left.  They all spoke at the service. They told funny stories.  They related sayings.  They bragged on him. They wept over their loss.  They sang giving praises to the God that their father taught them, by example, to love.

It was one of those funerals that, if you have to go to one, it was about as happy of a service as possible. There were positive impacts left by him as far as the eye could see.  The only negative was that everyone in that absolutely packed church didn’t get more time with him. But, if he were there, he would have had none of this funeral business. He would just have told us all that he didn’t want us to fret about him. He was happy and whole.  He would have just told us that there was no need for crying or anyone being upset.  In some lovable and unbelievably down to earth way, he would have told us all to go on home and carry on. He would tell us to go live our lives in such a way that he could watch, be proud and most importantly, see us all again.