This is not my usual blog post. If you’re looking for something to inspire your running, you won’t get it from me this time. It’s not the smoothest, most beautiful piece of writing, but it’s something I had to write.

My grandfather moved on from this life early Sunday morning.

As I lay in bed, beginning to process the news, I did what most people would do in this situation – I went to the memories. What I began to realize as I searched my memory is that he taught me much more than I ever realized or appreciated while he was alive.

Among the many accomplishments in his life, Kenneth Potter opened and ran a successful produce market in downtown Holland for nearly 30 years. That entrepreneurial spirit was enstilled in his children and grandchildren, many of whom have gone on to start their own businesses. That spirit is alive in me, though I haven’t found the best way to express it.

He and my grandmother had 5 children, 24 grandchildren, and 35 great-grandchildren with many more on the way. They have attended everything from piano recitals to choir concerts to band concerts, football games to soccer matches to track meets. Track and Cross Country are not the most glamorous sports, but they always made sure to make it to a couple meets per season. I didn’t realize it at the time, but between all the grandchildren (and we were a busy bunch) they must have spent every single night during the school year at some kind of event, and never begrudgingly. They loved to see their family be successful.

Beyond all that, the greatest gift he ever gave me was the one lesson I don’t think he meant to teach. Over the years I have seen my grandpa grow as a man. I always assumed that once you hit a certain age, you just stayed the same; and maybe some people do. But Grandpa Potter was open to continuous growth. As we grandchildren grew up in a new and very different era than he was familiar with, we often challenged his worldview and flew in the face of what he perceived to be the norm. By no means was he a perfect person; he was most certainly a product of the era during which he grew up. As an example, he was none too pleased one year at Christmas when I showed him a picture of my new girlfriend (now my wife). It was impossible for him to conceive of one of his grandchildren being with someone of a different race, and it elicited a (highly inappropriate) viceral response. It wasn’t his fault (at least not totally), it was something he’d never had to think about before. The great thing about my grandpa was that I could say right to his face that I did not appreciate his comments, and it never changed the way he felt about me. It took time, and the first time they met was very awkward, but by our wedding day he had accepted Mindy as a member of his family, and loved her as his own. I respect him so much for that. It would have been easy to hold a grudge and reluctantly accept what he could not change. But that is not the path he chose. He chose to examine himself (with Grandma’s help, I’m sure) and adapt to a new time in order to love better.

There are many more examples that I could go in to, but there is one in particular that strikes my passions. At what most would consider late in life to do so, Grandpa decided to quit smoking. Most New Year’s resolutions fail fairly quickly, but this one lasted nearly 30 years, never waivering. It’s never too late to change.

I think sometimes people take my lack of transparency as a lack of caring. I don’t post every thought and emotion on facebook or make grand entrances to family events – it’s not my style. It wasn’t Grandpa’s style, either. He didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems. If he was having a bad day, no one but Grandma knew about it. That’s what made it so hard to see him at the end. He didn’t want us to see him like that; he didn’t want us to hurt.

If you’re still reading, you’re probably related to me. I could not stop shaking while I typed this. I left and came back to the computer numerous times, just so I could try to compose myself. We all loved Grandpa, and he will be missed. I don’t want this to become a 1500 word essay, so I will end with this: let the lessons you’ve learned be his legacy. Thank you, Gramps, for everything.