The truth is . . .
Today is the anniversary of my dad's death. He died back in 1967 of a heart attack on my grandma's birthday (his mother-in-law). I was less than a month away from turning nine. He was 38. Death strikes everyone differently, and memories vary depending on age and circumstances. I knew he died young, but now that I am past the age of his death, I can really appreciate just how young he was. Now that I think about it, he was just a few years older than Jesus was when he died. Whenever one's earthly existence ends, it leaves a hole. I often ponder how some people make such a huge impact, like St. Teresa of Calcutta, and others leave behind memories for their immediate family, rather than the entire world. But when I think about it, as in my dad's case, their children and their children's children become their quiet legacy. So you could say they do, in fact, make a huge impact on the world for generations to come. The truth is, it really doesn't matter if