Due to a curious alignment of the moon and stars this week-end, I found myself flying solo in the domestic bliss of fatherhood and grandfather-hood. I say “solo” but that is only in the context of Sally being out of town – I was blessed to have any threat of aloneness banished by a steady flow of grandchildren.

One very dynamic part of living a few houses away from five of one’s grandchildren is the potential for one or more to show up in planned and unplanned forms. This week-end, the sleepover of one turned into visits from the other three the following morning…visits that somehow manifested themselves as non-overlapping and one at a time over a couple of hours, then culminating in breakfast, snacks, and three doing their own thing in different rooms around the house. I’m certain Einstein had some kind of theory about the quantum relativity of this kind of chaos.

At one point in the grandfatherly continuum of my morning, I found myself standing at the top of our stairs as 2 1/2 year old Blair stood at the bottom, arms reaching up toward me, saying, “Poppy, help me.” Apparently she wanted to come upstairs and the ascent she’s completed hundreds of times seemed daunting this morning. Descending the stairs, I asked, “Do you want me to pick you up?” “No, I want you to hold my hand.” There is a beautiful symmetry to the randomness of a 2 year old who is very clear about what she wants.

Later that day, I drove to a chapel for memorial service for my friend, Gay, who passed away in April. As I walked across the parking lot toward the chapel, I didn’t see anyone else and hoped that that there would be a few people there to remember my 87 year old friend. Any concerns about attendance were washed away in the buzz of an unexpectedly large chapel with most sits occupied and a long line of well-wishers coming in from the entrance – apparently, I had somehow found the back entrance to the chapel. I almost laughed out loud as I scanned the room looking for anyone I might know. There were at least 200 people in attendance.

Images of Gay appeared on large screens behind the altar area and I smiled as I saw her younger self, her family, many volunteer events, and images of her adventures around the world on photographic pilgrimages. I was reminded of the movie, “Titanic,” in which an old Rose was shown in her stateroom with photos of her on many adventures through her younger life. I knew her for just a sliver of her life and, though not entirely surprised, found myself shaking my head in wonder at the great journey of her 87 years.

Various family members took turns reciting poems and eulogizing their mother and grandmother. I think they too were a bit surprised by the outpouring of affection for Gay and perhaps some of the versions of their mother and grandmother they discovered in other people stories. The many epithets given to describe Gay were powerful testimony to her person and impact: beautiful, generous, force-of-nature, direct, strong, life-changing…dozens of descriptors were used to characterize her. May we all have a few of these read and written about us at our passing.

I was reminded of the complicated nature of families. The intimacy of family leaves no room for masks or candy-coating. There is no hiding our weaknesses, flaws, and imperfections. All of our strengths, shortcomings, tendencies, and habits reveal themselves in such close proximity over great spans of time. With our family, we see it all. Love and complexity infuse even the most idyllic family relationships and Gay’s memorial was made profoundly real and compelling in the honest reflections on her as both amazing and totally human. Love is made more real when applied equally to our imperfections.

As parents, we want the best for our children. This often means desperately wanting them to be their best. Pushing, pulling, hoping. When they are young, we exert great control and influence over their formation. However, our desire to see them thrive, to be their best, doesn’t end with a degree, job, marriage, or children. Part of the beauty and struggle of parenthood is transitioning as our children grow, molding and preparing them, then letting go as they take agency of their own lives. Then loving them through the joys and disappointments that happen along the way.

What about others who fall within our domain? Those who we nurture, lead, and steward in our roles as managers, teachers, healers, ministers, volunteers? We all exist within an ecosystem of human interactions which brings us into contact with life’s great array of beautiful thriving and dark suffering. Beyond our personal triumphs and struggles, we’re given a variety of front row seats to witness the vast capacity of others to be their best and their worst…sometimes in very close proximity.

A line from one of the eulogies that stood out to me was “she attacked life with a generous heart.” This speaks profoundly to the deep desire in all of us to help and to make a difference. This is especially true for those closest to us but it doesn’t end there. The paternal desire to make goodness happen for others doesn’t stop with our kids nor does the maternal desire to shield them from suffering. Even suffering brought on by their own choices. Many of the laws of our society are built upon the basic notion that most of us need to be taken care of by those who know better than we do – that many of us need to be protected from ourselves.

Thinking of little Blair, I wonder about the many times I want to fix things for those in my life, when I want to pick them up and carry them to a better place. I realize that many of the greatest gifts of my life were the moments I had to figure it out, suffer though it, or turn to my God in faith and trust beyond my own capacities. Right behind those times were the times someone showed up for me with just enough help to get me through – neither carrying me nor shielding me.

Holding Blair’s hand as she walked up the stairs, gave her just enough confidence, security, support – enough accompaniment – to help her through the moment.

The only reason 200+ people show up for the memorial of an 87 year old woman is because she made a difference in many ways at many times over many years. She was clearly loved but she obviously loved first. Being described as a “force of nature” certainly suggests a strong-willed love, perhaps even fierce, but I suspect that is the sort of disposition and energy it takes to show up for so many people over so many years.

And though she certainly had many thoughts on how best to live, how things should be done, or ways others could improve, I suspect that she touched most of those lives by offering to hold their hand rather than carrying them. By supporting rather than fixing.

Reflecting on this, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised that it is the wisdom of 2 year olds that carries the day. “No, Poppy. I want you to hold my hand.”