There are moments when my father in law’s absence really hits me. They are coming fewer and further between now, but they certainly still give me a gut punch when they happen. My nephew had a (very belated) graduation party at the baseball park (we have a minor league team, the Louisville Bats) and he was wearing Ron’s necklace. It’s a golden cross on a short chain that he wore everyday. Mason leaning over and it fell out of his shirt and I had to catch my breath. In some ways, it was wonderful to see that piece of jewelry around my nephew’s neck, but it made for a reflective moment of thinking about what could have been, and what Ron might still have done in life had he not died so suddenly.

Then there are the times when I catch one of my kids looking sad to point of illness, and I ask what’s wrong, and they tell me “I miss grandpa.” I know. We all do. It’s in those moments that I wish I had words to put to the kind of grief that we’ve all lived through. But I don’t. How do you sum up the life of a man who had such an impact on the people around him, that the church was packed on a icy January day, with dozens more watching the service streamed over the internet? How do you even begin to describe a hole that big?

I’ve been trying to do just that for a few months now, but I don’t have the right words yet. However, true to the project of this blog, I wanted to share the piece I do have, even though it’s not quite right, and feels cheesy (it’s probably the rhyme. I’m not really great at rhyme without being corny). This is one of those unfinished projects, and idea that might not work out, but I’m okay with it. Can you ever really distill a life down to a few lines without leaving something out?

The title of this post/poem comes from my friend Mark, who, since Ron’s passing, has taken to asking himself “What would Ron do?” in the situations that come up in life in order to help him make a decision about what he should do. If that’s not the sign of a amazing legacy, I don’t know what is. And so, I offer this first, perhaps only, stanza of a poem about my father in law’s work ethic and the mark he has left on people.

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There’s something I wish I could write

But the words don’t come out quite right.

It’s a probably a poem, but maybe it’s not

About honor and legacy and filling a spot

That needs to be filled, or getting it done

Even if, as the workhorse, you’re the only one.