Worth Celebrating

My great grandfather, Russell C. Pryor, passed away. At the age of 98 (a month and a half shy of turning 99), he lived through events I only learned about in history; having been born during the First World War, growing up during the Great Depression, and fighting in World War II. In my youth and early twenties, we lost touch, but later in my life I was fortunate to live with him and despite the span of 63 years between us, he was one of the best roommates I’ve ever had. We golfed. Cruised around the lake on his pontoon boat. Had weekly pizza dinners from the corner store. Spent quiet evenings reading books and watching movies.

Through the years, I’ve tried to make the most of my 35 years on this Earth, but there is only thing that stands in my memory as the most extraordinary; my trip with grandpa, 93 at the time, to Europe. Our purpose for the adventure, to rendezvous with a cousin, who he had corresponded with through letters, but hadn’t seen since the war. On our ten-day visit, we saw the sights in London, ate pasties in Bath, posed for pictures at Stonehenge, drank Guinness in Dublin, and bought kilts in Scotland. But, by far, the highlight of the tour was the reunion, 67 years in the making. Out of all the things in my life, being a part of that moment is my proudest.

Death is never easy. It awakens in us a sense of true reality. Draws a line in the sand between what matters most and what doesn’t. Forces us to take pause from our busy lives and look around and reflect. I am not sad of my grandfather’s passing. I’m happy and proud that I got to know him and spend time with him. He had a long, fruitful life. His pages were full of words and stories, not blank spaces and those words and stories live on in me and my family, to be carried on and remembered.

All I can hope for is that whenever my time comes, it will come like his, with a life worth celebrating, not just mourning. Kipling, in his poem “If,” said it best: if you can fill the unforgiving minute with sixty seconds’ worth of distance run. Grandpa ran and never stopped running.