What We Leave Behind
A prominent someone I knew peripherally died earlier this year, age 90+. Her obit included a slew of achievements, board positions, and awards. The copy was so long and praiseworthy that I skimmed the last half. As impressed and slightly overwhelmed as I was by her professional accomplishments, I wished for more. How will she be missed by the people she loved, what they will remember most? It’s not reasonable to ask all that from an obit, yet as a record, we are all obviously much more than our resume, our progeny, our cause of death.
As many of us do, I’ve spent too much time at work, been too focused on getting things done. Over the last few years, I’ve tried to focus my energy in greater alignment with what — more accurately, who — I treasure. I hope there’s lots of time to live and laugh, so my family and friends have plenty of togetherness memories, and my overall impact is a net positive.
I first began to think about who we are in terms of what we leave behind when my Aunt Lil died in 2017. A stay-at-home mom who lived her entire life in a small Boston suburb, Lil was a devout Catholic who raised seven kids, was a good neighbor and friend, made sure homemade dinner and dessert were on the table every night, volunteered when needed, and held a few interesting jobs. She was engaging and fun. Though she traveled some, her life was geographically limited, compared to the mobility many families experience today. Yet her funeral mass was packed, emotional tears and laughter prevailed, and numerous stories were shared. Lil loved deeply and was deeply loved; she built a lasting legacy by showing up every day, fully human, and doing her best to make a positive difference.
Lil’s husband, my 93 year old uncle died earlier this year, nearly eight years after his wife. Uncle Jerry was a smart yet simple, relatively humble guy, completely devoted to his wife and family. Given his age and knowing that he was the last of his generation, I assumed his wake would be small. Yet when I arrived, an hour into the three-hour visitation, I had to wait in line to greet his kids. His obit was short; the real story of his life was expressed by the laughter and the connection we felt with each other as we honored him. During his funeral, his family shed tears, but so did staffmembers at his assisted living facility, lifelong friends of his children, some who traveled a long way to be there, and the daughter of a neighbor who wanted to pay her respects on behalf of her mom.
Bottom line: others will write it for us, on paper/online as an obit, and in their memories. We d get to choose how we live each of our days and how we interact with people we know, and those we don’t.
I hope I live a life of love; I hope you do, too. Our world has never needed kindness more.
