Francis John Murphy, 1923-2008.

My grandfather died a week ago after suffering from Alzheimer's for some years.

My grandfather was a man of quiet virtues. His service in World War II in the navy was, as for many people of his generation, nothing to brag about – just a matter of doing his duty. In his roles as father and grandfather – and in my case, a grandfather who was more like a father – he again served with the greatest devotion, but in quiet ways. It may not amount to heroism to get up and go to work every day, and to come home with gentle affection for your family – but if that is the way you feed, clothe, and put a roof over the head of three people who depend on you…then it may not be heroic, but it’s definitely inspiring.

The impression that this kind of steady, solid life made on me can be hard to describe in words to others – the signature events are things like, in my case, teaching me how to shave, how to ride a bike, and how to parallel park, or taking me on a tour of the battleship USS Wisconsin when it docked at the Philadelphia Navy Yard - because I liked ships and he liked ships, and it’s hard to think of a better way to spend a few hours than clambering through steel corridors, marveling at 16-inch guns, and thinking about the sailors who served there. He liked to read books, and I like to read books. Sometimes I read books that he recommended. Exciting! These things of course add up to days, weeks, and years – and memories - even if they don’t really come in handy at parties.

In the end, that’s not important. You don’t have to know any stories about my grandfather’s life to really get what he was about. Instead, just look at the people who surrounded and loved him – his devoted wife, his two children, and his three grandchildren. And speaking for myself, especially now that I have children, I know that I recognize Grandpop – and lessons I learned from him - in myself and my actions every day. (But Benjy and Anne can relax, because I promise never to wake them up in the morning by dragging the sheets off and then dribbling cold water on them. Surprisingly effective, as it turns out!) In Anne’s case, Jeanne and I made that connection explicit, since her middle name is Frances, after Grandpop – ensuring in a concrete way that his memory will live on in her.

I deeply regret that he never really knew his great-grandchildren before passing into a world beyond knowing, a few years ago, but in small ways they may be able to see him in me. That is a kind of immortality.

To me, Grandpop’s life was about three words: patience, kindness, and love. Thank you, Grandpop, for showing me in your quiet, powerful way what it means to be a loving family man. I hope I can carry the message to your great-grandchildren.