A Legacy of Meaning

Recently, I woke up before 5 am with a question burning in my mind. I’d like to think what caused me to wake up out of a sound sleep was a benevolent whisper from an ancestor’s grave but it was probably Zena the terrier standing up, circling twice, and plopping down on my ribcage. Regardless, behind my open eyes, trains were roaring down tracks in all directions, and they weren’t going to stop and let me sleep again until I figured out both the question and the answer.

The question was a little one about why I’m here, and what I’m going to leave behind for the people who outlive me and the people who come after me. Or, in other words, what is immortality? How do we achieve it?

Of course, since we occupy meat-bodies that deteriorate and die, immortality as human being is not possible. Yet, you or I could probably name a few immortals. Explorers. Discoverers. Scientists. Humanitarians. Saints.

A person is as immortal as their loyalty to a code supporting human dignity and value. No immortality is associated with possessions, no matter how valuable. Your home, no matter how handsome or safe it is now, no matter how much you love going back to it at the end of the day, and no matter who lives there with you, is meaningless after you’re gone.

The legacy you leave behind will not be an inheritance. Instead, it will be the eternal memory of what you did for others, especially the things you didn’t need to do: kindnesses of all sizes.

Our friend Lionel lived a long and productive life. He had a beautiful home, a beautiful family, and beautiful buildings he created over decades as a contractor and property owner in a coastal California city. When he passed on, hundreds came to pay their respects. Everyone had a story to tell. None of the stories were about anything he owned or made. Instead, they were about his kindness, his charity, and his generous acknowledgement of others’ contributions.

He will be remembered fondly by many for a very long time. To that degree, he is immortal.

This time of year, I find myself thinking about family members who aren’t here anymore. My father was complicated; our relationship uneven. Still, as I get older and gain more perspective, I realize that he left a positive legacy that lives on in us, his children: a strong work ethic, appreciation for learning, curiosity about how things work, a quirky sense of humor, and the willingness to talk to anyone about anything without — looking back at it — judgment about their choices. Dad was far from perfect, but his mark on this earth’s balance sheet was in the asset column. When he passed away, I was surprised by how many people came to pay their respects and, even more so, how many of those people had stories to tell about the unexpected ways he'd touched their lives.

About a decade after Dad died, my mother’s second husband John also passed away. Like Dad, John was an imperfect human being. But John was a mean person, a small man, who had little use for others and little patience to look at them hard enough to see their value. He was explosive, unpleasant, narrow-minded, rude, and crude. Very few people came to John’s funeral. No one could come up with much to say about John; the most positive comments I heard thanked him for his service in World War II. It seemed that his military service was his biggest value — even though that was more than half a century before he passed. What use were all those decades after he left the military? What legacy did he leave? His passing was sad, not because we’d lost him, but because he’d lost so many years of opportunity for greatness.

These early morning reflections led me to conclude that life has to be lived with purpose and integrity. Treating others with kindness, and acts of beauty and love, not material accomplishments, are the best legacy.

If all we did, even once a day, even when it was the harder path, was one kind thing for another or one act of pure love for another, our lives would mean enough to make us immortal.

We could all sleep well every night, tranquil, secure, knowing we're on the right path. At least until the next kick in the ribs from a sleeping dog.