I thought about writing a letter. However, as we watched the flag being folded from the top of 91-year-old grandfather's coffin this past weekend, I knew what I needed to do.  As the crowd walked somberly back to their cars to escape the blustery Washington weather, my stepmom lingered for a moment, staring. I tapped her on the shoulder and started bawling as we embraced. Slowly my muddled whisper came out, "Thanks for doing what we couldn't."

October started much like any other month for my family, but the first two weeks would my grandfather's last. My grandmother died almost 10 years ago after 56 years of marriage and a bout with leukemia. She did everything for my grandpa: laid out his clothes, cooked three meals a day, cleaned, raised his kids, planned functions, and helped him start his business years ago.  She ran a tight a ship, but they loved each other with a commitment that is a seemingly dying breed these days.  After she was gone, he understandably was never the same.

The older I get I can see different ancestor's dreams being passed down from generation to generation. As my family spoke at the funeral, I realized that all of us grandkids were infused with my grandfather's crazy work ethic and a desire to succeed.  

For me, my perfectionism causes me to think I can do it all and to hear my grandpa's legacy, it's not hard to see why.  He was a logger, a WWII vet that stormed Iwo Jima, and came home to a wife he married two weeks before he shipped out.  He started a construction company with a Japanese man because he realized they were just like him -- human and needed to work. He was born in 1917. My dad remembers getting their first television, Model T Fords and 57 Chevys. He witnessed the civil rights movement and the birth of technology all the while coming to his grandkids' sports events.

My grandfather had thick skin, which wasn't passed on to me. So as he aged and without my grandma there as a filter, comments would fly and I had my feelings hurt on more than one occasion.  Other family members had similar experiences, so with time we drifted apart. Enter my stepmom who didn't have to drive him to the doctor or check on him those last few days. My dad thought he had another six months and that this virus would pass. It was not to be. He passed in his sleep on October 14th.

There are things I do well and there are times I desperately need help. My family is not always good at asking for help. We want to appear capable and put together, ambitious and confident. So after my stepmom and I had a moment, I collected my thoughts and began to ponder all of the others who have done things I couldn't. I thought of my great grandparents living through the great depression.  Their parents who immigrated here from England and Sweden. I thought of my valiant friends who have amazing gifts, abilities, and hearts. They really are changing the world, as have those who have gone before them.

We so often rush to what is next or pine over what we can't do or don't have. What would it look like to acknowledge our deficiencies honestly and humbly because we know there are others who can help us, hold us up, and be there for us when we can't?  Those who have gone before us and who are here now. As my family gathered together this weekend after the guests had gone home we toasted those who helped us before we could even help ourselves. With peach brandy in hand, we laughed over memories and legendary tales of my grandfather.

So although I can't do it all and wasn't there in his final days, I know part of the legacy I want to pass on is asking for help and knowing that I am not perfect. I want to create space to realize my own humanity and the legacies of those before me. Maybe it's not always what's brand new or next -- maybe it's to thank those who are around us now, whether physically present or not... who pave the way for us everyday.