Some of you may recall that my grandfather, Pap, passed away on December 13, 2020 of COVID. It was a heartwrenching “see you later” done over FaceTime—even with his and our certain hope in the power of Jesus’ resurrection. Struggling to breathe, his final words were ones of appreciation and love for me. You read that right: appreciation and love for me. As I’m being vulnerable with you, I find the pain of his passing to still be raw. While it’s been five years now, I still feel the void that his passing created and grieve not being able to hit the golf course in the spring as we intended to do together. Even as I’m sitting down to write this, I find myself deeply emotional—which for those of you who know me well you know that doesn’t happen often. I’ve often wondered why this traumatic event lingers on so viscerally in my life. The best answer I’ve been able to find to date is that my grandfather and I had a lot in common, and so many of the things that have served me so powerfully in my life are things I’ve learned from him.

Pap was a complex man. One minute he was calling you a “damn fool” only to be followed two minutes later by expressing a profound concern for your safety as you left. He had ruthlessly high standards and yet would give a stranger the shirt off of his back. When our son was born, I recall him going to stores buying him outfits. I asked my father, “Who is this guy and where did Pap go?” Pap was intense. Intense in his criticism, his work ethic, and with his love. It’s the only way he knew how to do it. 

He took early retirement from his career as a welder in the natural gas industry and faithfully took care of my wheelchair-bound grandmother for the rest of her life. Before he retired, he would go and pick up my great grandmother, bring her to his house to stay with my grandmother. Then he would go to work. He would come back home, have dinner, and take my great grandmother back to her house. He did that five days a week. On Saturdays, he would do the same but so he could go and golf at Lakeville Country Club for his standing 6am tee time. 

During the summer of my college years, I worked at the same company that my father and grandfather worked at. One week some of the guys invited me to play golf at Lakeville. I asked what time we were going out. They told me. It was right after my grandfather’s tee time. I showed up to the course just before six and my grandfather looked over at me. In classic Don Vanada fashion, he said “What are you doing here?” To which I gave him a response he would have given, “It’s a golf course. What do you think I’m doing here?” Everyone laughed, especially him.

Pap’s coworkers idolized him. He remains a legend with the former employees of Bay State Gas. I recall people asking me when I first started working there if I was Don’s grandson. I said I was. They went on to share the most remarkable stories about his work ethic, how he always did the right thing, and how he always took a strong stance for the underdog. What extraordinary praise that made me proud to be his grandson, not because people admired him but for the reasons that they did. I have never seen a work ethic like my grandfather’s—ever. Men who were half his age were openly confessing that my grandfather could outwork them before lunch. And as they expressed it to me, “That’s no bullshit.”

One time he challenged me to a foot race. It was probably a 40-yard dash. He had work boots on and cut off jean shorts. I had athletic shorts, sneakers, and a tee shirt. He told me he could beat me. I laughed and committed to taking him on. I was one of the few people in life who was not intimidated by my grandfather. In fact, our intensity levels often matched each other. Anyway, back to the race. We took off and it’s really close. At the last second, he pulled ahead of me and won. In workboots. At the age of 60. I was in high school. 

Many of you know that I have a history in stock car racing. That’s another passion my grandfather shared with us. We had go karts that my brother and I would race in our yard. One day my grandfather decided he was going to get in one. We all looked at each other knowing that this could get wild pretty quickly. Well, Pap barrel-rolled the go kart in the front yard with my grandmother watching from her window. He uprighted the go kart while laughing. Then he turned around and walked home just like nothing happened. No big deal. 

You may also know that I lease racetracks a few times per year and put on events with NASCAR’s oldest division: the Whelen Modified Tour. The name of that company is JDV Productions. Many correctly assume that the J is for my first name and the V is for my last name, but they often ask what the “D” stands for. Well, by now you probably guessed that it stands for Donald. It’s difficult to express what an honor it is for me to be my grandfather’s namesake: Joshua Donald Vanada. 

I’m mindful that for some of you the holidays are hard because you have voids like this one. You aren’t alone. I’m not going to try and tell you that you shouldn’t feel that way because it’s untrue and it’s unkind. Grief is real, and it is love, as Jamie Anderson reminds us. It’s love for who that person was and our inability to experience that here on earth any longer. And I think it is also an invitation for us to think about what type of legacy we want to leave. As I was reflecting on Pap’s life when I first gave his eulogy in 2021 and as I write this today, it gave me the occasion to think about what I want people to write about me after I have been reunited with Pap and live in the presence of our loving God in heaven.

What I concluded was that what I want them to write “Josh was ruthlessly compassionate and loved me by normalizing boldness, intentionality, and freedom.” 

As I reflect on this vision and how much of it was born out of lessons learned from my Pap, it only seems appropriate to reflect back to him his final words to me, “Thanks for everything.”