Legacy

Most people grieve when their father passes away. In the days that follow, they reflect on his life, consider the legacy he left behind, and hold tightly to the good memories—the moments that help preserve the best of who he was.

But very few people are given the gift of witnessing that legacy while their father is still here.

Very few get to witness what can only be described as a living wake. To watch as friends and family gather, one by one, to say goodbye; to hear the stories, see the tears, feel the love, and recognize in real time the impact one life has had on so many others.

Very few get to see the very best of their father revealed in his final days. But that is exactly what Amy and I were privileged to witness with her dad before he passed.

We watched a man face the end of his life on his own terms. Surrounded not by fear, but by the people he loved most. Family and friends filled the room. Stories were shared. Goodbyes were spoken. Love was everywhere. And in the midst of it all, he worshipped his Savior. He raised his hands with the strength he had left and sang in a loud and clear voice of the love he had for his Jesus.

There was something profoundly beautiful about watching a man come to the end of his earthly life surrounded by the evidence that his life had mattered. His legacy wasn’t something we had to search for after he was gone.

It was everywhere in that house. In the friends who came to pay their respects, and in the family gathered around him each day for his favorite meals surrounded by his beloved children and grandchildren. As his journey here came to an end, he put on a clinic for how a good life should come to a close. Artfully showing all of us one final time exactly who he was and why we loved him.

As Amy and I walked through our grief together, I began to realize something else about legacy: part of mine is being written in the way I love her through this.

The heartache she is carrying can be overwhelming at times. Grief has a way of stealing your footing, of making even the simplest moments feel heavy. And in those moments, she has leaned on me. She has found strength in my strength, and I’ve helped keep her grounded when everything around her feels unsteady.

But it isn’t one-sided. As I’ve tried to be strong for her, I have watched her carry her grief with a grace and wisdom that strengthens me in return.

That’s how marriage is supposed to work.

We were never promised a life without heartache. We were never promised that loving each other would protect us from loss. But we were given each other so that when those moments come, neither of us has to face them alone.

Sometimes I am her strength. Sometimes she is mine. And then, even in the hardest seasons of our lives, God uses us to bring out the best in one another. Maybe that is part of the legacy we are building together.

Don’t avoid the difficult seasons, but when they come, hold onto each other and walk through them together.

In loving memory of Ken.