I never knew my great-grandpa, Harold Wolter. He died before I was born. But I imagine that there are many that still hold memories of the life he lived. It's strange to think that within just a few generations our lives, our stories, are forgotten.
This past week, my Grandpa, Dennis Wolter, got the chance to see his father once more as he went on to Heaven. All weekend I've been quite numb over the matter. A little bit torn between knowing that I'm going to miss him greatly and remembering how he'd say, "well, there's no sense in crying about it." He'd usually say this to my Grandma, his wife Karen, who'd cry every time we'd have to end our visit with them. He was a strong man but there were times that he too would 'get a little something in his eye'.
I remember staying with my grandparents one summer. I was expressing more and more interest in writing and my Grandpa said he wanted to show me something. He walked back to his bedroom and began digging through the top drawer of his dresser until he pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was a poem that he wrote for His dad, Harold, after he passed away.
At the time, I didn't quite understand why he wanted to share the poem with me. I hadn't known his dad and I really had no idea what loss was since I was blessed to still have all my grandparents in my life.
Today I realize that he was simply saying, "I understand what it's like to empty your heart on a piece of paper."
The thing I love most is that if you take his poem and change "nine children" to "eight children" it is suddenly about Dennis Wolter. I may have never known my great-grandpa but so much of his life was passed on to the next generation.
"Our greatest legacy is revealed, as the actions and words that we planted throughout our lives, grow and flourish long after we're gone." -Nicole Donoho
Here is the poem he shared that day...
Harold L Wolter
Dedicated to My Father
Written by: Dennis Wolter
Now the lord has taken him
I know he’ll grant his wish
Place him in the midst of game
And fill the streams with fish
Not saying he was perfect
Or never had a fault
But for him to get to heaven
I never had a doubt
His graces came at different times
Whenever the Lord seemed fit
At work or play or along the river bank
Where you often seen him sit
Fame and fortune he never knew
But this didn’t make him sad
For his riches came from his good wife
And nine children which he had
In all God’s creation
There will never be another
For the man I speak about
Is my beloved father
You take heaven and give them hell
A New Identity
What is this blog about? You mean, I'm supposed to have a purpose? Ok, if that's required then my purpose is life.
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