A bright light was streaming through the four ceiling window panes that are part of St. George’s Greek Orthodox Church. Seated in the back row it was easy to notice the illumination that was shining down on the 95 year old woman prepared for her burial. The congregation along with all the ceremonial paraphernalia attached to a traditional Greek funeral were right in front of me. The mourners paying their respects, the Greek priest sprinkling incense from a swinging thurible, and the extended family of the deceased woman dressed in the garments appropriate for a day of mourning. Two large scaffolding ladders were on my left in front of pure white walls waiting for another day for the artist to finish the story that had begun to be told on the opposite wall. The honoree lay still in the light, her time had come for eternal rest after 95 years of leaving her indelible mark. All of us have struggled at times, with trying to understand what our purpose is. On this fair September day with her three sons, their spouses, and five grandchildren sitting soberly at the front viewing their mother, their grandmother, their aunt, their friend, who had left her hometown in Greece and migrated to America in 1947. The answer in regard to her “purpose in life” couldn’t be more obvious. It is not about what we gather while we live. The evidence of how well we did in this game of life is all about what we leave behind.
It is doubtful Kiki Demontheses was thinking about the purpose of life when she arrived in America 75 years ago. She had survived her hometown’s occupation by the Nazis, (not many did) as well as the Greek Civil War that took place after WWII ended in 1945. One can only imagine the mixed feelings a person must have had leaving their childhood home and boarding a ship sailing for this “dream” that was the United States. The land of milk and honey, where an immigrant had opportunities that their mother country could not provide. An opportunity to work for a living wage. An opportunity that was possible with hard work and education that one could begin a climb up the socioeconomic ladder. Her journey in America began in Catskill, New York working in the restaurant trade. She met another Greek immigrant named George Demosthenes and it wasn’t long before the two of them were committed to climbing together.
Going through the greeting line before the service began I could observe all that Kiki and George left behind was present. Three grown men well into their 50’s and 60’s stood solemnly shaking hands with the guests. Two of them still live in the Hudson Valley, while the other one has found his way to retirement in Florida and a passion for golf. You couldn’t help but find a grin when he said, “I have the bug real bad, I’m not happy unless I play four or five rounds of golf a week.” Yes America is an amazing place still. All three men were successful entrepreneurs who followed in their Dad’s footsteps in the restaurant and catering business. All three were educated with a combined chutzpah of old Greek traditions and American street smarts. Seated in the front row were Kiki’s five grandchildren ranging in ages from 22 to 30. Each of the five are formally educated and well on their way to ascending to higher heights then their parents. The oldest grandson, George, is a radiologist in Erie Pennsylvania, the oldest granddaughter, Georgia, just finished up getting her four year degree studying abroad at Saint Andrews University in Scotland, where she resides. Another granddaughter graduated from Marist college in Poughkeepsie New York. Lastly, grandson number two works in California at Apple’s mothership while his sister completed her degree in Psychology at Syracuse last spring. From all the way in the back of the room I could make out the grandmother’s smile.
We have strange ways of celebrating success in this country. Ridiculously, how much money a person accumulates seems to be the number one measurement. Close seconds are the title you had in your career, or the compromises you felt forced to make in business or politics. As the light from above began shining deeper into the congregation creeping its way towards me, I couldn’t help but think about my own life. The answer to my own success and purpose, or lack of, didn’t have much to do with my bank account, or car, or how good a salesman I was. No one who understands even the littlest things about this life, would judge themselves on any of that. All of a sudden I was seeing the light: To make sense of the scattered short lives people lead we need only look to what remains. The first place we look is offspring, your children and your children’s children. Most, but not all the answers, can be found in a person descendants. Who did they help, who did they influence in a positive manner, what words or contributions did they leave that generations to follow can benefit from?
The last three years I have been beating myself up harder than usual. Life seemed to have passed me by. The aging process has been a difficult one for the “Peter Pan” part of my character to accept. I lacked ambition, I also felt a major reduction in physical prowess. The cumulation of it all had left me in a stalled state in regard to success and purpose. Today’s funeral for a 95 year old Greek immigrant was helping me mend my selfish malaise of “things just aren’t perfect.” The funeral, and legacy it represented, reminded myself that what was perfect today had everything to do with family. Earlier, than usual, my wife had reminded me to dress nice, to wear a suit and not be goofy, my oldest daughter was arriving back in Atlanta after a week’s vacation on the French Riviera, and my youngest daughter, still on assignment for her job with the New England Patriots, was on the beach in Aruba working. I thought about my German immigrant grandparents, who were so proud of their American citizenship, living in a Brooklyn flat, trying to do all they could to make it possible to make for a better life for my dad and his sister. I thought about my parents, building their own house in New Paltz and having established careers in education. Suddenly I was was not doubting my success or purpose.
In the end we all lose control of our own future. All that will ever be counted on our ledger is what is already passed. Possibly some part of our energy returns in a wholly different dimension than who we were in namesake. If legacy is important to you think of your family as perpetual, they and all their offsprings are an on going circle within the larger circle of the universe. In my selfish moments I can be disappointed in not achieving great wealth or status, at not being the best I could have been on more than one occasion. But my dismay quickly evaporates when I think of my grandparents, my parents, and my immediate family. If my grandparents, who like Kiki came to America on a boat with nothing in their pockets, could only see how far up the ladder their legacies have climbed. If they could see the opportunities and options my daughters children will have that were wrought with their sacrifices. Looking back I am guilty of spending too much time counting greenbacks and calculating my next move. Kiki Demosthenes probably spent very little time doing either. She had a simple rule: ‘She did whatever was best for her family.’ In the late 40’s, as a nineteen year old girl she was compelled to escape the turbulence of her homeland to search for a dream she couldn’t have possibly foreseen. When she passed the lady guarding America’s entrance there was no hint of the success ahead and the abundance of what she was going leave behind.
