‘He fought courageously with a smile.’

On the ninth hole of a 2003 golf trip to Mississippi, Jim Enlow suffered a nearfatal heart attack. Actually, it was fatal.

He was medically dead, with no heart rate for 24 minutes. The doctors told the Enlow family that there would be substantial brain damage as a result. As the family hoped for the best and expected the worst, they sat around the hospital room, praying and mindlessly watching Jeopardy.

No one was really paying attention as Alex Trebek gave the “Final Jeopardy,” but the instant he said it, Jim woke up, answered the question correctly and everyone knew everything would be okay.

Jim was born Feb. 11, 1937, to John and Janet Enlow. In 1957, he married his high school sweetheart, Carole Decatoire, and later that year they had their first son, John. Over the next 13 years, Jeanne, Jackie, Jim, Jeff and Julie followed. Between 1985 and this past February, they became grandparents 18 times over.

As you can see, my grandparents were very productive in their 52 years of marriage.

My grandpa was not merely in this world to create a rabbit farm-esque family. He served our community with his whole heart and mind. He joined the Knights of Columbus in 1982, rising to the esteemed fourth degree, the position of Grand Knight and serving as an honor guard. He also gave his time to groups such as the Boy Scouts at St. Aloysius and, like everything else he did, always did so with a smile.

His life and charitable mission grew in 1998 and 1999 with the births of grandsons Ryan Sattler and Lucas Enlow, both born with Down syndrome. With the welcoming of these two boys, Grandpa devoted much of his time to helping show just how able the “disabled” really are. He became heavily involved with the Special Olympics and Polar Plunge, and the Lincoln Land Down Syndrome Society and its annual Buddy Walk and golf outings.

Grandpa was diagnosed with lung cancer in February of 2008. We were all terrified, but he was fearless – outwardly, if not inwardly. He fought courageously with a smile. Always that smile.

He was given four to nine months.

Like that day in Mississippi when he defied medical logic by waking up to beat everyone at Jeopardy, he exceeded the doctors’ expectations yet again. When told the cancer was growing again after a few months’ respite, he fought on and did another round of chemo, giving him almost a year longer than predicted.

His bravery continued right up until the very end. Just days before he passed, he was on the phone with clients, letting them know that he would no longer be able to do business for them, making sure everything was in order. My grandpa was the kind of man who made sure no one would be inconvenienced by his death – a true businessman his clients were lucky to work with.

He left this world exactly as he would have wanted – surrounded by his entire family, his mother holding his hand. Before the funeral home took him away, we all got to say one last goodbye — and an ever-important thank you — at the house in which we’d all spent so much of our lives. We cried and hugged, reminding each other and ourselves that wherever he was, he could breathe again, golf again, bowl again and watch out for all of us, the way he always had.

At his funeral, my family was quickly saddened by how unrecognizable and wrong he looked in that coffin, but none of us could understand why. My uncle Jeff figured it out.

“He’s not smiling.” The line at his wake was not dissimilar to a line during a busy day at Disney World. There were so many people, even ones he’d only met once, all touched in some way by his life. For 72 years, Jim Enlow was an inspiration to everyone with whom he’d come in contact. His marriage to my grandma was that beautiful perfect love that you only ever see in movies. He was helpful without ever needing to be asked. He knew every answer to every Trivial Pursuit question. He was so proud of his kids and grandkids and everything they did, big and small. He was funny and quick and always, always smiling that smile that all six kids and most of his grandkids got from him. He was someone with so much love in him, with so many people who loved him back.

He lives on through his whole family, all of whom know that he left big shoes to fill, and all forever better because he was here.

— Courtney Enlow