To quote one of my favorite writers, "If I loved [him] less, I might be able to talk about it more." I think that statement would probably describe this short article, because even though it's been about three weeks since the death of my grandfather, it's hard to know what to say at a time like this, or to imagine what I would have told my Poppa if I had had a chance to say goodbye. I tried to come up with grandiose and witty expressions of admiration for the tremendous and formidable man who was my grandfather, but I think instead I'll keep it short and sweet because I'm hoping that's what he would have preferred.

The Memories:

My grandparents and I at my post-graduation dinner.Personal Photo

Ferris Larsen was a man who knew no strangers: it was a miracle if we could go anywhere in town without him being recognized by someone. Even the plethora of wildlife at his home recognized his bird calls, and I'm sure, appreciated his friendly chatter as he fed them -- deer, catfish, and feral cats included.

He was often characterized by his impressive bow tie collection and his signature whistling that could be heard for practically miles around. And while these descriptions are undoubtedly correct, what I think was even more characteristic of Poppa was his unbound generosity, his unfathomable work ethic, his fervent love for the practice of medicine, and his vehement dedication to his family. The lessons that all of us in this room learned from him during his 87 years on Earth with us are limitless and essential.

The Lessons:

My grandparents and I after my middle school production of Annie. Personal photo

Not only have I learned that unconditional love is best expressed in actions instead of words, but he also taught me the importance of steadfastness in every aspect of my life, of motivation, of dedication, and even of the impatience needed to get the job done. It is evident that he was so loved by everyone who visited, attended his funeral, and still continues to reach out to my family, which I think, in the end, completely summarizes what I've been trying to say.

The Doctor:

A Portrait of My Grandfather Hanging in The Hospital Where He Worked for YearsPersonal Photo

If you looked in a dictionary, to the word 'doctor' you would probably see a picture of my grandpa. As short as a few hours after his death, my family was flooded with memories and stories from ex-patients and colleagues who remembered my grandfather as their caretaker, some of them since their births.

One particular story that best describes his impact on our community was told by a woman who remembered how when she was a young girl, nearly 50 years ago, her grandfather was dying of cancer. Though there was nothing to be done, and many other physicians told him so, the man requested to see my grandpa. So every day during his lunch hour, Poppa would drive over to the man's house, take out his doctor's bag, and rifle through all the materials he carried.

As he pulled out each tool, he would eventually get the older man laughing, until he felt better. According to the woman who told the story, every day at the end of the hour my grandpa would say "Doesn't look like any of this in here will help today, but I'll come back tomorrow and we'll try again." And the man, smiling sheepishly and somehow feeling a lot better, though no medicine had been administered would nod and anticipate their meeting tomorrow.

His Legacy:

The Whistling DoctorPersonal Photo

So, to state that he left behind a family of an amazing wife, five children, eight grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren would be a drastic understatement. Because in all reality, he left behind a community of loved ones that spanned across the country, he left behind a lifetime of tireless work doing what he loved best, and he left behind hundreds of individuals who would be a lot worse off, maybe who wouldn't even be alive today, without him.

I don't know what my life will be like without him. I still haven't gotten used to someone else answering the telephone without the typical "Larsens" when I call his home phone. These few weeks have been the toughest of my life and sometimes it's hard to stay motivated and keep living life.

But what I have figured out from the moment I reached Poppa's driveway on my way for the funeral and saw a few hungry deer waiting in the lawn for the familiar dinner call, is that the memories, the stories, the Poppa-isms, and even Poppa himself, aren't truly gone. And what I do know without question is that he certainly won't be forgotten. I wouldn't trade the 19 years I had with him for anything in the world and I'm so glad that I had the opportunity to call him my grandfather.

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