Legacy

My mother’s birthday is coming up.  Finding a “not Christmas” gift this close after Christmas has always been difficult.  Finding something for an 86 year old with Alzheimer’s living in a memory ward is even more so.

I came up with a brilliant idea.  I would frame a set of pictures of her four adult kids to go with the pictures of her four babies.  It would help her remember what we look like longer.  The problem was finding four headshots that matched well enough.  That included one of my little brother.

Emotions surfaced as I shuffled old photographs.  He was murdered in 2003.  Memories of the good times and the not so good coupled with a truncated life of someone I loved, still love deeply.  The stress was compiled by computer problems solved over the phone by my husband who was out of town.  Finally, frustration made me quit for the day, and I sat down to read a large stack of mail.

One piece waited to the end, a letter from my Dad’s stepsister.  I resisted opening it as it meant more emotions to process.  Five pages, both sides, hand written in a shaky but once beautiful cursive.  She described her health problems and mourned for my mother’s loss of memory.  Then, she started unfolding her childhood memories with my Grandfather and dad.  Her words were so beautiful.  They glowed with love and admiration.  Instead of crying, I smiled.

She described her “dad” as the best man she ever met.  He was kind and generous to everyone, especially those who could not return a favor or those he would never see again.  He honored people who never received honor.  His love was for everyone.

Mixed in was the pain that his family never accepted her mom.  A divorced woman with three kids marrying a man 30 years her senior had to be for security, a gold-digger.  They never saw the love that made them a family.  They never understood how much these women needed acceptance.

My dad was in high school at that time.  He saw.  He called them family.  The only one who did.

She suddenly had a big brother.  This is something she desperately wanted as her two brothers had died.  In her young eyes, he was the most handsome man in town.  She may have been right.  I’ve seen pictures.  He was a real cutie.

But that was not why she loved him.  She described my dad as the best man she ever met, a mirror of his dad.  He too cared for people in a way that most people cannot fathom.

I knew that man as my father.  Mom was always appalled at the “riff-raff” he brought home and asked her to feed.  She did, but she never understood.  He would sit and “chat,” listening to their stories and making them feel wanted.  Some of those people were never seen again.  Others kept in touch; they needed to tell him how knowing him changed their lives.

As I read, I saw my brother in her words.  After he died, the testimonies of his friends told the same story.  He took care of those around him.  He encouraged drug addicts to stay clean.  He hunted for lost people until they were found.  He fed the hungry and gave his clothes for others to wear.  His home and heart were always open when they needed him.

These three wonderful men are gone from this world, but their legacy lives on in all the lives they touched.  They loved because it was the right thing to do.  None of these men were perfect, yet something in them changed people.  Sadly, their families only saw the imperfections and condemned their acceptance as unsafe, their compassion as foolishness.

My personality is not a mirror of theirs.  I am too much of a hermit.  I must work to accomplish one act of kindness where they breathed mercy.  I worry that my love for humanity falls short too often.  Some friendships do not make sense, as a “safety first” video replays in my head.  Some acts befuddle my mind, and I hear echo’s of my mother’s contempt.

I pray that when I die people will say such words about me, the good and the bad.  I want to live a life that helps people to live, to hope in a better future.  I want to give a hand instead of a pat on the back from a distance.  I want to build up and not tear down.  These are difficult, but I will continue to strive toward that goal.  Because… love is the right thing to do.