Winding the Clock Every Day

So, my father-in-law, William Joseph McDonough, was a man among men.   Straight out of how the American dream is written.  Parents off of the boat from Ireland. Orphaned at an early age, intellect was his pass to freedom here.  And he took full advantage of it.  I don’t need to share his success story with you.  You can Google it. Yep, he helped save entire countries and was a stalwart leader in the U.S. financial market after 9/11.

This is a different tale.  I didn’t know him well even after so many years but I know the byproduct of his influence on his children, and particularly, my husband, John.

Our parents define us.  By what they do and don’t do.

Bill passed last January.  He left six children and two stepchildren.  He died mostly alone with a few faithful people by his side at the end.  His prestige and importance tucked away.

So what is left?  What do we pick and choose to keep of the people who leave us?

For me it is a clock.  It is very old. And quite heavy.  With a thermometer and barometer. One of the people who took care of him until the end, Sebastain, said this clock meant a lot to him.  Bill asked about it every day and wanted him to wind it carefully and give it good care.

Now it is mine.  My responsibility.

It sits on my desk.

I wind it with respect and think of the man who the world knew and then the man our family knew.  I think of the beautiful children he created — their chiseled cheekbones, fascinating complexities and undeniable presence.

And I am grateful for him.