Is there anyone in your past that inspired you to become the person you are today? For me, that was my grandfather, Charlie.
Charlie grew up a poor farm boy in a small South Carolina town and ended up an executive in a Fortune 250 company. He was a poster child for the American dream, and I respected him for it.
But what I admired most was his character. Charlie was always content with life, regardless of his circumstances. He prioritized servant leadership and measured his self-worth based on how well he served others.
People were drawn to him because of these characteristics.
I only had twenty-five years with my grandfather, yet he had a tremendous impact on my life. Although I learned much from him during that time, the most significant lessons came near the end of his life as he was dying.
For most of his life, Charlie was active and fit. He played football in college, golfed throughout adulthood, and was a master gardener (he had a spectacular rose and tomato garden).
But all of that quickly came to an end after he was diagnosed with ALS (also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease).
ALS is an incurable and fatal disease of the nervous system marked by progressive muscle weakness within most of the body’s muscles. Its symptoms cause difficulty with walking, picking things up, and even breathing.
Over a short time period, Charlie went from regularly golfing and gardening to being unable to do much (other than watch his body slowly waste away). He couldn’t drive, needed full-time oxygen, and had trouble walking on his own.
Given his condition, you’d think he would have exhibited (at least some) anger, frustration, or depression. Yet he didn’t. Instead, he was the happy, content man I’d grown up with.
Initially, I assumed that he was hiding how he really felt so that he could remain the strong patriarch of our family. But over time, I realized that he wasn’t faking it. He was happy despite all that he was going through.
As a young, stressed-out law student who couldn’t fathom handling his situation half as well has he was, I wanted to know how this could be. So, I got up the courage to ask him.
Charlie told me that happiness has nothing to do with your circumstances or how you feel physically. Happiness is about who you are.
Unfortunately, I had no clue what he meant.
But Charlie had a way of ending conversations when he felt that he’d said enough, and this was clearly one of those moments. So, I shut up and hoped that I’d one day get it.
That day came only a few weeks later when I helped Charlie drive my grandmother’s car to a local service station he frequented. The day was cold, grey, and misty—and Charlie was having an especially tough time breathing and walking.
When we got there, the mechanic made a point to come talk to my grandfather (which should have been a clue of what was to come, but I was oblivious). After chatting for a few minutes, he went outside to get to work.
To my dismay, Charlie wanted to follow him. As I assisted my grandfather up and outside, I wondered if following was the best idea and worried about how he’d be affected physically while standing in the cold, wet weather.
For the next forty-five minutes, Charlie stood outside and talked to the mechanic while he worked. I often had to repeat what my grandfather said, because his voice was going, but that didn’t seem to matter. Both men laughed and enjoyed each other’s company.
On our way home, Charlie nodded off and his breathing sounded terrible. Later that day I asked him why he’d used so much of his energy to talk to a man he barely knew and had nothing in common with.
He looked me in the eyes and told me that what he was about to say was important and I’d better listen.
