There was something I learned from my grandfather’s passing beyond the natural progression of life into death. He was afraid at times, but seldom angry. He was less angry than I saw myself being. How had he forgiven his wife who let him waste away to ninety pounds? How did he not think the world owed him more, than selling his house to pay for nursing home care? He was a veteran, after all, and had given his country a great deal. Maybe service to him was just that: service. He didn't expect to get anything for having risked his life. I realized how unselfish my grandfather was, especially compared to myself. My family and I wanted his wife (he had remarried after grandma died) to pay for allowing him to physically and emotionally starve. Grandpa would have none of it. He firmly held his faith, and belief in the New Testament. Love your enemies and eternal life were not merely ideas for him. He had seen through war the value of peace and the ugliness of hate. He regretted his own actions more than those of others. I take this not as a sign of how to end a life, but rather how to live. Our actions define us, and affect the ones around us, more than we will ever realize. Grandpa knew where hate would lead his friends and family. He also knew that faith, and love, were greater than mortality.