The old man paused a moment to watch his grandson sleep. It had been a long day, and both were tired. In fact, the baby had just fallen asleep. One-year-old Elias lived up to his nickname, Big Baby. Not that he was chubby or overweight, he was just big and solid. Of course, being the fourth child, he had to grow fast, just to keep up.

Reluctantly, the old man stooped to pick him up. “Ow, my back hurts,” he thought. “I haven’t been this tired since I trained for Philmont. Heavens, was that really twenty years ago?”

His old body ached, perhaps from a day of hoisting the one-year-old around. More likely, it was the cardio rehab. Either way, he was exhausted, but it was a good tired. The tired you feel after a hard day’s work. Smiling, he carried the sleeping baby to the car and waved from the doorway as they drove away.

When he retired, friends advised him to get a hobby, to travel, to volunteer. “You need something to keep you busy,” they all advised. Of course, none of them was retired, so he smiled appreciatively, but after forty years of hustle he just wanted to veg out for a while.

Besides, something his father had told him, long-long time ago, kept popping into his head. “All a man leaves behind are memories.”

At the time, he dismissed it; he was young and busy designing treatment plants and water systems.  Concrete, brick, and steel monuments designed to deliver safe drinking water to thousands of thirsty homes. That would be his legacy. At least that’s what he thought back when he wore the clothes of a much young man.

He didn’t rightly know when he changed, possibly when his kids were born. Maybe it was twenty years ago on that mountain in New Mexico, watching the sunrise. Perhaps it wasn’t until his parents died. He didn’t know. Nevertheless, somewhere in there, he came to understand what his Dad had said.

“All a man leaves behind are memories.”

A deceptively simple statement that rings true on so many levels.

David L Dahl.

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