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How do you measure a man? How do you determine if someone has lived a good life or a bad life?   Is it their sparkly possessions – the zip of their cars or the sharp suits they wear that give them their value? Or is it the prestige of their occupation that dictates that? How do you measure a man? Must they be perfect? Must they be strong, dark and mysterious? How do you measure a man?

        Can you measure their love? Like a tall, towering tidal wave it should encompass you. No matter what mayhem slips into your life -- it should be there, unconditionally. Love is alive. Like a flower it must be watered and well taken care of. The more you feed it, the more it feeds you. A good man doesn’t fear this. A good man doesn’t fear reminding you of that – even when it’s simply platonic or familial.

        Can you measure their strength? Big boys don’t cry – or so they like to say – but there is no weakness in crying. No man is a rock; you cannot shoulder the world on your own without breaking down some days, because some days the world is like a big bully. Its sticks are sharp and when they hit you it hurts. It’s okay to let that go. A strong man knows that. It isn’t crying that makes you weak, it’s holding things in and shutting down that does.

        Can you measure their dreams? Through decisions we find answers, but through dreams we find passion. No amount of answers in the world can make up for a lack of passion. Passion is fire, passion is freedom. What is left when there’s no more passion? Life is lack luster and dull. No amount of heart or soul can take its place.

        Grandpa, you may not be here today, but you showed me what a man should be. To me, you’ll always be the embodiment of what is good and right in the world. You were never a perfect person, but you were a good one. Hard working, caring, passionate, loving – you were everything a man should be; everything a person should be. If it wasn’t for you I don’t know where I’d be today, and honestly, I shudder to even consider it.

        For all the time we spent together, you worked to make sure I knew how much you loved me. Simple things like a quick ring of the phone every night or buying me that book you knew I’d had my eye on. If my dad couldn’t come up with all of the money for the power bill that month, you’d slip him a little extra into his pocket when no one was looking. You thought no one noticed, but we knew, how could we not? Whenever one of your employees was down on their luck you’d get the whole office together to support them. Sometimes I have to wonder how you could love so much.

        I still remember the first time I ever saw you cry. Back then I didn’t know the power that those tears had. I didn’t realize how much it took to break down and ask for help like that. I was too young to appreciate it and help you but I remember how much stronger you were as you got through it – like a phoenix rising from the ashes.

        Most of all – when I think about you, I think about all of that passion you had. You had so many dreams – I want to visit Finland, I want to visit Israel, I want to learn the trumpet. You did them all. There was such a passion about you, a fire just to live and experience everything life had to offer.

So how do you measure a man? You measure them by their love, their dreams and strength. Grandpa, you’re the highest measurement I could possibly think of. Even though you’re not here with us anymore, I’ll always love you and remember you.