I went to a memorial service for a man whose legacy was deep and wide. His hundred descendants sat in the pews and listened to the story of his long life. At the reception afterwards, there were both laughter and tears as his children and grandchildren shared tidbits about a man bursting with generosity and dreams. On everyone's mind was his beloved wife of almost three quarters of a century. She was waiting for him, and he for her. 

"I'm not a solo act," he had said. 

It was a celebration, and there was no question that he had wrung his time on earth dry. Everyone in the room knew and believed that he had made an impact. If the burning question of old age is whether we have become a legacy for good, all hands would shoot to the sky to affirm that he had.

When he was asked how they made decisions in their marriage all those years he had a ready reply.

"We did what Bethy wanted."

Looking back at his ninety seven years, the pieces of his life create a mosaic. Even the difficult times, selling lemonade during the depression to make a few dollars, or having his father die when he was just six, became fuel for his resourcefulness. Even with heartache intertwined with success, it all became part of who he was. 

For the people left behind, holding only their memories, and each other, this man had accomplished a great deal.