The First Annual ‘Steps for Pop 5K’: Walking Forward in Memory

In February, I lost my grandfather, Louis J. Sessinger, though better known to us as Pop. Those who know me know that he wasn’t only my grandfather. He was my best friend, my mentor, and the single biggest influence on the career I’ve been building as a writer and editor. We even have 2 matching tattoos.

I quickly learned that grief is… strange. It shows up in waves (no pun intended), sometimes quiet and gentle, sometimes knocking me over when I least expect it. In the months since his passing, I’ve found myself searching, almost desperately, for ways to hold onto him. Not just the memories, but the lessons, the inspiration, and the unwavering joy he brought into every room.

This summer, during our family’s annual vacation in Ocean City, New Jersey, a few towns over from his hometown of Ventnor, NJ, my family found one of those ways. When my sister and aunt pitched the concept of the first annual “Steps for Pop 5K” in his memory, I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to honor him.  

Taking a Step Back

I should back up a bit. Before he embarked on his career as a journalist, he served our country as a Marine in the Vietnam War, where he was a helicopter crew chief. It was there that he lost his leg from the knee down, an injury that earned him his Purple Heart.

He could have let that define him. But if you knew Pop, you would know he didn’t let anything stop him. He came home, continued with his healing journey, married the love of his life, and built a career at The Intelligencer, a local newspaper out of Bucks County, PA. Decades of deadlines, columns, edits, and stories. Decades of shaping how a community understood itself. He covered a range of topics – from sports, to politics, to war, and later on, he started a weekly column that was read by many.

It was always cool seeing Pop’s name and photo in the Sunday paper, and even cooler when I was the subject of his interviews. I can remember him taking me out to lunch as a kid, chatting his ear off about who knows what. But he could turn anything (including a lunch date or a phone call) into a story. I still have those clippings today. Years later, I would publish two articles in the same paper. Though it wasn’t the hard-hitting journalism that Pop would publish, it was highly rewarding to know I was the second Sessinger to publish something in the Intel.

When I decided to pursue writing and editing, it wasn’t by accident. It was because I had grown up watching him. He showed me that words matter, that the truth matters, and that storytelling is as much about listening as it is about writing. More than that, he showed me how to lead with humor, grit, and understanding, qualities I try to carry into my own work every day.

Taking a Step Forward

This summer’s trip to Ocean City was our first without him. We knew it would feel different. As mentioned, he had grown up a few towns over, in Ventnor, and he loved the ocean, the surf, and the overall feeling that the Jersey Shore evoked. (If you know, you know.)

So instead of letting the week slip by with a notable absence, we decided to honor him. There were 19 of us that morning: my grandmother, his three children, their spouses, his eight grandchildren, his best friend for decades, and a few other family friends. In our matching shirts, together we walked 3.1 miles through town.

It wasn’t a race. There were no medals. Instead, we were walking for him. Every step was filled with stories and laughter, memories we created over the time we had with him. I felt his presence with each step.

When we finished, unprompted, each person shared one thing they were grateful for, one way Pop had touched their life. I knew what Pop meant to our family, but during that time, I realized even more so, just how deep his impact was. He wasn’t just my inspiration; he was a role model, a steady presence, and a source of love and encouragement for every single one of us, family or not.

And then, in the most “Pop” way possible, we ended with joy. In our matching shirts and all, (most of) the group ran straight into the ocean. The ocean had always been something my grandfather loved. Those moments of laughter, splashing, and togetherness felt like a gift back to him. Even the lifeguards were laughing, though probably for a different reason.

This 5K was more than a family activity. It was a way of carrying him forward. It was a reminder that legacy isn’t only about the big things, like awards, titles, or careers (though he had plenty). It’s also about the ways we show up, the values we pass down, and the joy we share with the people we love.

The Big Wheel Keeps on Turning

For me, it was also a reminder of why I do what I do. My grandfather didn’t sit me down and tell me to become a writer. He didn’t push me into his profession. Instead, he lived it in a way that made me want to follow. He showed me what a life of purpose looks like. Whether that purpose was telling a community’s story, showing up for his family, or facing challenges with humor, resilience, and patience – a trait of his I try to lead with every day.

When I write, when I edit, when I try to tell stories that matter, I feel like I’m walking in his footsteps. This 5K was a reminder that I don’t just carry his influence through my work. I carry it throughout my life.

We plan to make the 5K a tradition. Every summer, walking those steps together, keeping his memory alive not just in words, but in action.

This summer, as we stood soaked and laughing in the Atlantic Ocean, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Not just for the man he was, but for the chance to honor him in a way that felt so true to his spirit.

Something I’ve come to realize in the last (almost) 7 months is that grief never really leaves us, but even more than that, love doesn’t either. And sometimes, the best way to honor someone you love is simply to keep walking. Step by step, story by story, tradition by tradition.

To quote the man himself, in his own writings of morality, “The big wheel keeps on turning. We’re born, we die, and we’re born again in some other way. The wheel turns. The sea never sleeps. It all goes on and on.” – Louis J. Sessinger