When my Grandpa Hofer was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, his doctor gave him three months to live. What my grandpa did with those three months was one of the greatest gifts anyone has ever given me.
There was no energy spent hoping death wouldn’t come. Every ounce of energy available was spent preparing for what would happen when he was gone.
He went and made his funeral arrangements. He bought a burial plot for himself (and one for his wife, who is still here with us, bless her heart). He sold the house he had built with his own two hands, knowing that he wouldn’t be around to keep it up anymore, and he moved himself and his wife into a retirement home near my folks, where he knew his wife would get the care she needed when he wasn’t there to provide it anymore.
And when his time came, there was no dancing around the reality of what was about to happen. If he had managed to handle his final months the way he did, then the least those of us around him could do was to respect him with the same kind of straightforwardness and frankness. We said our goodbyes to him to his face, while he was still conscious enough to know what was going on.
Everyone’s got a place they go when they need some “buckup inspiration” or some “raise your game inspiration”. That memory is mine. Whenever I need to dig deep for that little extra something, that’s where I go.
By the way, since my grandpa’s not around, I can’t thank him personally. So I have no choice but to go around thanking other people for what they’ve done for me. Like Craig Wight, or Gordon Boggs.
Turns out that’s been another gift my grandpa gave me, too.