Today marked the 20th anniversary of my maternal grandfather’s death. This is an odd way to start a blog post, so let me set a few things straight really quickly. First, I’m not a super sentimental person. I’m not someone who feels the need to go to cemeteries every year to pay respects to deceased loved ones, nor do I get teary-eyed when I look at old photos of people no longer with me. That being said, I’ve probably been to his gravesite 3 times in the last 20 years since his passing. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my grandfather, but I was 12 years old when he passed. If truth be told, though, I really didn’t know the man that well. I was much closer to my paternal grandmother who passed away when I was 21, and I’ve only been to her gravesite twice that I can recall.
Now that we’ve established these things, let’s get into the events that transpired earlier this afternoon. My maternal grandmother was recently diagnosed with a form of cancer. Don’t worry, we don’t believe it is/was anything that will be detrimental as everything seemed to be well contained, per the doctors, and after 5 weeks of radiation and chemotherapy, and one surgery they believe they were able to get everything removed. Her recovery has been… errr… emotionally and physically strenuous, to say the least, but everyone believes she will recover fully and all will be well. As she has continued to regain her physical strength, my mom and her siblings decided they wanted to get the family together to celebrate… well… to celebrate her living. It just so happened that she was well enough to travel on the anniversary of my grandfather’s (her ex-husband’s) death, and her children (including my mother) thought it would be a good idea to visit his gravesite as a family on this day, the 20th anniversary.
Now that the background has been established, let’s move forward…
While at the cemetery today, wandering around the vast and varied sites of men, women and children long past, a few things began to catch my attention. Initially, the names. So many different surnames! I looked some of them up to find their origins and discovered them to be from literally all over the globe – Japan, Russia, Germany, England, portions of Africa, Israel, Italy, Korea, etc., etc., etc. In that moment, it occurred to me… for all the differences, disputes, and disrespect some of our peoples have had for one another throughout the centuries, there is one thing we all have in common – Death. We must all die. I noted many interesting factors that continued my reflection on this. During WWI, it was the Japanese that we Americans had so much fear of. Yet, as I walked through this graveyard I saw a tombstone for someone of probable Japanese origin buried right next to a WWI soldier. During WWII it was the Germans we detested, yet again, as I walked through this valley of bodies I noted surnames of German ancestry buried right next to WWII soldiers. And again, during the Cold War, it was the Russians whom we feared the most, but once more I noted those of Russian descent buried next to those likely born within our borders. This circle of observations caused me to question – what does this stupid hatred we hold onto even matter?
Reflecting on this made me recall one of my favorite quotes from the movie Remember the Titans. It comes from Sunshine’s father. While trying to talk the coaches into allowing his son to play football for the newly interracial school, he says to Coach Boone, “The way I see it, if these boys can fight a war together, they can play football together.” I thought of how we nit and pick and disrespect each other because of our perceived differences, yet in the end we will all end up in the dirt right next to each other – something an Army Colonel should know all-too-well. A pointless waste of life it seems to me – one full of hate. Life could be so much more enjoyable if we would just learn to love and respect one another, including our cultural differences.
The other thing I noted was somewhat related, but much deeper, I believe. Every so often, I would come across a tombstone with a special engraving outside of the normal stuff like Name, Date of birth and Date of Death. Some would say things like, “loving mother of…” or “loving father and son” or “Sergeant Army World War II” or “purple heart recipient” or even one that said “Gifted seamstress”. As I continued my walk through the many rows and aisles of tombstones I began to feel for the ones that had nothing extra added. What were they remembered for? Anything? Now that decades and decades have passed since they were buried, is there anyone left who can attest to the significance of their life? Does anyone remember? Was it a life of good or of bad?
As I’ve looked through the history of my own family over the last few years, I’ve come to learn quite a bit about where I have come from. Some of it good, but honestly a lot of it bad. A woman who murdered her husband in order to get out of her marriage and marry the man she was having an affair with, a Native American prostitute with no knowledge of who her son’s father was, a slave trader in the South, a man who hated the Irish so much so that he put it in his will that should his wife or children marry someone from Ireland they would forfeit all of their inheritance. Heck, my paternal grandfather (my blood-grandfather, not the one who raised my dad), is a felon who wanted nothing to do with my father or his family – I don’t recall ever meeting him – and gave up his rights without second thought. This is the family I come from, and this is how their stories remember them.
It was hard to think of these things in such an already solemn place. Then, my thoughts turned more personal… What will I be remembered for? Although I would much rather be remembered for nothing than to be remembered for the evil deeds mentioned above, I long to have a legacy of good to be remembered for. Don’t take this the wrong way, I’m not searching for glory. This isn’t even intended to be a gloomy post as I fear it’s starting to be perceived. This is about a renewed awaking. Yes, I want to be remembered, as most of us do, but I care nothing for money, or glory, or fame or influence. I just want to do good. To be remembered for being honest with those within my sphere of influence, no matter how big or small that influence is. To be remembered for caring for weak ones, even if no one else sees it. To be remembered for loving those deemed to be worthless. I may never be a purple heart recipient, but I can definitely give a coat to a child who has nothing to help keep him warm in the winter. I may never be a gifted seamstress, but I can show love to a victim of human trafficking and try to help her remember that not all of the world is evil, and her worth is not found in her tragedy. I may never become a leading politician, but I can help teach my niece and nephew that giving is better than receiving.
I may not be remembered for being the one who helped changed the laws of the land, and I’m perfectly okay with that. What I’m not okay with is leaving behind nothing of significant, eternal value. I know not all of you agree with my beliefs and ideals, and I’m okay with that, too. I’m not trying to push them on you. This is a reflective post. My eternal significance lies in my faith in God and His teachings.
Philippians 2:4 tells us “do not merely look out for your own personal interests, but also for the interests of others.”
In Proverbs 3:3-4 we learn “Do not let kindness and truth leave you; Bind them around your neck, Write them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good repute In the sight of God and man.”
This is the legacy I want to leave (in a totally non-morbid way) – one that speaks of the good deeds that I’ve done in life. The people I’ve cared for. The strangers I’ve loved. The silent prayers I’ve prayed for others. My ability to stand firmly on what I believe, and simply put – for being someone who was able to show the character of Jesus. The evil deeds of my ancestors – I want to kick that dust away from my sandals and move forward in a new direction that promotes truth, justice and love. That’s what I want to be remembered for. Whether that will happen or not, I don’t know. I’m sure I’m not there yet, but I’m trying – one day at a time.
And You? What do you want to be remembered for?
