I had thought about taking a break from writing this week, unsure of what to say. Sometimes when you don't know what to say, it's best to not say anything. Other times, it's really healing to just write things down. I suppose that's what I've decided to do.

I went back to the hospital last Friday to visit with my father, who had taken another turn for the worse. By Saturday, I again returned there and was with him when he left this world. I suppose being with him as he battled the up and down fight for his very life prepared me somewhat, but I don't think anyone is ever ready to let go of a loving parent. No, it was not a good feeling to know I would never be able to talk to him again in this world. But still, knowing him as I have and as I do, he and I were both at peace as his heart quietly stopped. I didn't worry. I knew he had run a good race and fought a good fight. It was time for him to reach his final destination; time to rest and fight no more.

Sometimes the best stories end not with a shout, but with a whisper. I used to imagine a heroic movie ending to my life, dying in some noble way with great fanfare surrounding the scene and an imaginary stop-action camera panning by as the moment arrived. However, as I've grown into a man, I've come to realize that the most heroic thing a man can do is to stare death in the face without fear—to die bravely after living as an example for those who loved him.

I can say that I learned a great deal by watching my father. I saw how a man can be quiet and strong and still a storm and how to lead and still be meek and humble. I saw how he was slow to anger and quick to forgive. He kept his word, made his bargains honest and shared his blessings. I learned how to work with my hands and never take on ‘airs.' He always reminded me that he was "just an old hillbilly" and that a man should never think himself better than anyone.

But mostly what I learned from my father was how to love others and how to be a giver. He was always a good host and a man quick to aid those in need. Through watching him, I've learned how to build a legacy for my own family. Now, what I do with those lessons will be my testament. He did his job, leading those who would follow by example.

Perhaps I should put something else into my mind: Whatever we do is our testimony, our footprints in time are our own legacy. No matter if we do good or evil, our children and others are watching where we place each foot as we walk along. We should walk not only as men and women, but as teachers.

As the writer of the family, I was charged with coming up with words for a eulogy, but that, too, has proven difficult. So far, I've decided to say, "He fought with valor, lived with honor and died in peace."

As his eldest son, I took it upon myself to help make his arrangements. I started by calling to prepare for his grave beneath a big oak tree at the little church he attended with my mother.

Once that was done, I started calling the men he wanted to serve as pallbearers. All agreed to serve; some shared stories of how he had helped them. One noted that there were many times when my father had made sure his family had food to eat and clothes to wear. I didn't really know about that. That's the way good men really should be—their works should be done quietly.

I don't think I'll ever reach his level of charity. I watched as he loaned money he needed and knew he would never get back, I saw him deliver groceries to people—not one time, but sometimes over and over. He was the one his brothers and mother called when they were in trouble. I even once saw him give away his best pair of shoes to another who needed them. He never sought any glory for himself or even told anyone what he had done. He never really had much to say, but when he did speak, it was always worth hearing.

After he died, I am beginning to realize how little I really knew about him. But in the end, I think less of all the things I didn't know about him and more about all the wonderful things I did. I know I will see him again, but until then I hope to follow the footprints he has left behind.

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