My mama loved the Braves, so my Daddy loved the Braves.

My Daddy loved the Braves, so I love the Braves.

I love the Braves, so Timothy loves the Braves.

Tim loves the Braves, so Chandler, Kimbre and Connor love the Braves.

Last week, Alese, my five year old granddaughter, sat on my couch and asked me 1.8 million questions about the game I was watching. A few days ago, she walked in my house, saw the Braves on the TV and asked, “Are we winning?!”

Last night, I couldn’t sleep for the sick, empty feeling I had about another Father’s Day without my Daddy. But then I realized Alese loves the Braves because my Mama loved the Braves. She doesn’t remember her. She doesn’t recognize her in pictures. She’ll forget my Dad. Deacon doesn’t remember him and Dean never met him, but they’ll love the Braves, too.

Something about that simple legacy gave me peace.

Lives end, but love doesn’t.