We often talk about the moments that shape us — big decisions, career paths and life milestones. But more often than not, it’s not the moments that define us. It’s the people.

I was reminded of that in a very real way this past Friday when I lost my Papaw Ron — the last grandparent I had. Losing your last grandparent — that hits different. It feels like a chapter closing, not just in your life, but in the story of where you come from.

Before I ever understood what “legacy” meant, I was living inside of it. Long before I had a career, a family of my own or even the awareness to notice, I was being shaped by the people around me. Their habits became my normal, their values became my compass and their stories became the foundation of my own. It took growing up and now loss to realize just how deeply those influences run.

My Papaw Ron is where our family’s love of hunting began. He taught us respect for the outdoors and how to appreciate quiet moments that didn’t need words. The memories made on hunting trips will live in us forever. Papaw Ron played a part in our love for farming too — something many of you know is a major part of who I am. I learned to appreciate the simple joys — a good fire, a cold beer, oldies country music and stories that made our bellies hurt from laughing. I’m confident that’s where my stubborn streak came from, too. Not every lesson comes from perfect examples, though; some come from relationship struggles, life lessons and learning what you want to do differently. That, too, is a form of love and growth.

My Mamaw Janice taught me the importance of family — how to show up, how to take care of others, how to keep traditions alive and how something as simple as a card game or a kitchen could bring people together. Mamaw Janice is also the reason I appreciate a good cleaning and the value of a well-placed mothball. I always wished I had her positive outlook, though. She spent half her life fighting cancer, and I never heard her question it or complain. She just showed up every day and never stopped showing her family how much they were loved. I lost my grandma when she was only 57 years old. At 21 years old, that loss changed my life and gave me a deeper understanding of how precious life really is.

My Papaw Bill and I shared a special bond over horses. From him, I learned patience, trust and how animals have a way of teaching us about ourselves if we’re willing to listen. He didn’t have to love us the way he did, but he chose to, and that made his love feel even more. He took care of my grandma and had just enough silliness to always keep us giggling. From him, I learned that family isn’t always blood.

My Papaw Harry shared his love of farming, gardening, fishing and animals with me. He showed me that work could be meaningful, that caring for something bigger than yourself builds character, and that there’s value in both responsibility and curiosity. I’m positive that he shared his love of DIY projects with me

My Mamaw Shirley, who we lost in December 2024, passed down her love of canning, cooking, hard work, how to appreciate a really good yard sale and collecting antiques — teaching me that memories live in the little things and that there’s beauty in preserving pieces of the past. While I never loved sewing as much as she probably would have liked, every time I have to sew, I know she would be so proud — if only that I tried. I sure hope she doesn’t look too closely at those stitches, though.

My great-grandma Clela, she taught me to never stop moving and never stop doing the things you love. I think I get my love of dancing from her, and even though I was never musically talented like her, I appreciate how a song can fit every moment of life.

My great-grandparents, Charlie and Betty, were a strong, steady and quiet reminder of love, faith and family.

Even though I was young, my great-grandpa Irvil and great-grandma Edna left me with one lasting memory: the love they shared and how so much love could exist in the simple things in life.

When I step back and look at it, I realize how incredibly blessed I was — and still am. I come from a long line of people who loved deeply, worked hard, laughed often and showed up consistently.

Losing someone you love is painful, but it also brings clarity. It reminds you that the best parts of who you are didn’t appear by accident. They were shaped, taught, modeled and handed down — generation after generation.

And while I may have lost my last grandparent, I carry all of them with me every day — in my values, my work, my family and the way I try to live. All that I am comes from a long line of amazing people. And I’m incredibly grateful to share the best of me with them.

Orahood is the organization director at Ohio Farm Bureau Federation for Ashtabula, Geauga, Lake and Trumbull counties.