My grandfather never wore his wedding ring, but he did wear his Iona class ring everyday after he graduated from the college in 1946. He considered his time at Iona to be the source of his greatest influences, fondest memories and the place he called home. Before I got here, Iona was always a part of my life through his stories.

One of my favorite stories is how he met his best friend for the rest of his life hitchhiking his way to school from his home in Washington Heights. They fought each other every morning to be the first to find a willing driver—until they realized they were headed to the same place.

As I reflect on the last four years, it strikes me how different the world was when he went here — though I do remember a story of his friends jumping into the Beechmont Lake after a night out, so some things never change. I am so grateful to have shared this place with him while he was alive, even more since his passing in 2016. He never feels far from this campus—there are pieces of him everywhere.

Four of his eight children—including my mother—graduated from Iona. The other four went to Manhattan, but we try not to talk about it.

He was the head engineer on the building of Loftus Hall, and I still think about that every time the heat kicks on or the shower runs cold. When I told him I’d be living there for my freshman year, he shrugged and with a smile assured me, “Well, at least the building won’t fall down.” It seems fitting that I should have spent my last year at Iona as an RA in that same building, taking care of the legacy he left behind.

Before college, I never thought much of legacy, but now that my time here is almost over I can’t help but see signs of it everywhere. I see it in the hill where my mom used to sit before class, in the gym where my brother had his high school graduation, and even in The Ionian office where my aunt worked late nights on publishing days.

Even after 78 years, Iona is still a young college; but as I walk around the grounds, I can’t help feeling the scope of the years since my grandfather was a student here. This campus has seen the destruction of World War II, has erected memorials to remember those lost in Vietnam and was impacted by 9/11. It has lived through the age of computers, and technology my grandfather could never have imagined.

And yet, it is still the place my grandfather knew it to be—a place of academia, of service, and most importantly, of community.

For our last Christmas together, I gave him a copy of Iona’s recently published history book, “Advancing the Legacy.” He called me a few weeks later, in the midst of my grandmother’s passing, to thank me.

“It was good to read,” he had said. “Some of my best memories were at Iona.”

Mine too, Grandpa. Mine too.

Thank you for fighting the good fight. Thank you for teaching me how.