I’ve written a lot of columns over the years, but one of the most meaningful to me was published here 11 years ago, when Will was four years old. The trigger was these words out of the mouth of my babe: “Mom, I’m really going to miss you when you die.” He had just seen the Lion King and was intrigued about the concept of death, and had put himself into the shoes, well, paws, of little Simba, and what he would do if a beloved parent, like Mufasa, was suddenly out of his life.
As you know, I took a rare break from this column to tend to family matters with the death of my father-in-law, William Francis Brossman Sr., earlier this month. His was the first major loss for our children, and for Molly and Will, the first funeral they have ever experienced. Will went from having no real experience with the death of a loved one, to saying goodbye to Pop in an open casket, serving as a pallbearer, and then giving his oak coffin one last kiss goodbye as we headed out of the cemetery. Very heavy stuff for a 15 year old.
Pop was a member of what history calls “the greatest generation,” all of those of that age who saw combat in World War II, and cherished above all, the values of God, country, and family. It is a generation made up of good people who embodied hard work, honesty, and grace, and we are lucky that our kids had Pop as a role model for so many years. I know Pop would have been so proud as each of them got up on the podium at church to share their favorite memories, because I was so impressed by their poise.
He was a fabulous grandfather, generous with everything, but Pop was also the ultimate suburban dad to Bill and his brother and sister. This is how Bill remembered his father:
“Whatever adventure I pursued, you helped me get there. It never mattered how insanely impractical, you just pushed me forward. I remember when I begged you to let me buy a used car that needed a lot of work. It was all I could afford and it was in such bad shape that we had to tow it back home. We spent hours every night for one glorious summer working on that green car together. We took it apart and rebuilt it piece by piece. It’s a priceless memory for me. Then the following summer when I was looking for money to pay for a cross country bike ride, you bought the car back from me (for considerably more than I paid for it) along with my stereo and whatever other odd assortment of possessions I could lay my hands on. It was not your best financial move, but you showed how big your heart was.”
Bill observed that in a world too full of hype and embellishment, his father was a remarkable man who did amazing and quietly heroic things:
“You left to fight in Germany in World War II when you were only 18. You served your country bravely and with honor. You saw many horrible things as one of the soldiers who liberated some of the worst concentration camps at the end of the war.
“Pop taught all of us the values that we hold sacred: to take responsibility for your actions, to be humble, to love deeply, to work hard, to be grateful, to be kind to everyone at all times and to stand up for the weak.”
The true measure of a life well lived is not the house one leaves behind, or the cars in his garage, or the number of gold watches in his drawer. The real legacy is in the character and actions of those he loved, because in them, he can truly live forever. Will was named for his father and grandfather, but his is more than just a name to him; it is a way of being, a way of conducting himself in the world. As he foretold when he was just four years old, he is really going to miss Pop now that he’s gone, but he knows that the most important part of him will always be with him.
