It’s hard not to sound trite, but I sense that this is the end of an era. My mom died Sunday evening—on what would have been her 66th wedding anniversary. (Dad passed away in 1997.) She had been in either the hospital or nursing home since February 6th—her 84th birthday. I’m 42, exactly half the number of years that she was here with us.
As I call old friends and family members to give them the news, it is starkly apparent how many are already gone. It is a blessing to me to have grown up in the presence of the Greatest Generation. Perhaps I didn’t count it as such when I was a kid, but I learned about life and living from people who grew up without electricity, endured the Great Depression and survived World War Two. I beheld the bonds of friendship and faith that transcended place and time. I learned patience and respect as I visited retirement centers, nursing homes, and funeral parlors.
I was struck with awe, admiration and horror as I heard balding and graying farmers, custodians and restaurant managers relate stories of their youth. In my mind they were transfigured into a wiry young sailor enduring kamikaze attacks off Okinawa, a terrified 18-year-old Marine witnessing the annihilation of his friends on Iwo Jima, and a wide-eyed radio operator following General Patton across Europe.
These stories were the exception, of course. They were usually only shared after much nagging, a fair amount of bourbon, or on one’s deathbed. Mostly I heard about the good times in the midst of challenge and opportunity: about two years in the Civilian Conservation Corps building roads and cabins; about running off with your best friends to St. Louis to get married because it was faster and cheaper; about a full tank of gas, dinner at Steak ‘n’ Shake, and a double-feature for less than $5; about a chance to make better money raising hogs several counties north.
So now my cousins (who are all grandparents) and former babysitters have inherited the legacy of simple yet resourceful people who endured hardship with determination. What challenges and opportunities await us I cannot predict. I am skeptical that we will measure up to the standard our vanishing benefactors set—yet I remain hopeful: Hopeful that somewhere, deep down where it counts, we possess a little bit of the stern stuff of our parents. I remain hopeful, too, that we can accept with humble faith the circumstances that the Sovereign One has orchestrated, and that we will seek his guidance and strength as we work out our parts.
