What will your legacy be?

When I was a child, there was a drama on TV about a mining community in the north. called Sam. I remember the end of one episode very clearly. There had been a cave-in down the mine and men had died. One woman came down the stairs, her face pale and haggard. She looked at the people gathered in her tiny front room and said something like, “The last thing I said to my husband before he left for work this morning was ‘I hate you.’”

That scene has haunted me.

I remember my son having a strop before school and marching off after saying something similar to me, as children do. I found him in the playground before they were called in and told him I still loved him, even though he was mad at me. I didn’t ever want him to be faced with me suddenly dead and having guilt and regrets for the rest of his life. That may sound morbid, I know, but I think many more of us have a sense of our own mortality after covid.

In a couple of months, I will add another year to my age. Each one inches me more and more towards the time when my life will be measured in months and weeks instead of years. One day, I will take my last breath and quit this world for good.

Despite death looming ever closer, this post isn’t meant to be depressing. Dying doesn’t scare me. As a Christian, I know there is more to life than what we see and touch, and I have a solid promise that the best is yet to come. But it got me thinking about the legacy I am leaving.

Part of that is my stories. They reflect my beliefs, my experiences, my hopes, and dreams. There is a part of me in all of my books, and I love that people can continue to read them long after I am gone.

My grandchild will celebrate her first birthday a few days after I become 62, and her arrival into the world got me thinking. When she is eighteen, I will be on my way to celebrating my 80th birthday, if I am still around. The chances of me being in her life when she goes to university, gets married and has children of her own are very slim.

I want her to have something to remember me by when I am no longer around. So, I am writing letters to her. (For those of you with a collection of beautiful notebooks, here’s a chance to put them to good use!)

I chose four notebooks in a tin. They are gorgeous, and worth giving away to her. I don’t write every week, but if something comes up, or I feel burdened to share something of my own life, then I’ll sit and write. The first letter I ever penned told her how much she was loved, even before she was born.

They are to be given to her on her 18th birthday, or when I die, whichever comes first.

I imagine her treasuring them. Maybe she’ll get them out when she is feeling low or needing a virtual warm hug. Perhaps she will puzzle through my terrible scrawl, trying to decipher the words at first, but won’t even need them eventually, because they will have engraved themselves on her heart. It will be my gift to her.

Many people, when they talk about an inheritance, are speaking of money, property, and possessions. As much as I love my things, I know from experience that my son will not care that I keep a broken ornament that used to be my grandmothers. My precious things have no meaning for him. When we cleared my mum’s house out after she had to move into a care home, we had to get rid of so much stuff. It was an enormous job emptying a detached three-bedroom house full of her memories. Having dementia, even she had forgotten much of what they represented.

A bequeathed gift of money is lovely, but I want my legacy to mean something more than a deposit in the bank. I want people to speak of my kindness, my willingness to walk the extra mile, my availability and the love I showed. When they gather in church to say their goodbyes, I want them to share how I made the world a better place for having been in it. I want to create memories now that will withstand the test of time, and still be spoken about with affection years after the event.

I want the people I love to know it unreservedly.

I don’t want to leave this world with regrets or unfinished business. I am telling people now what they mean to me, thanking them for their presence in my life, and making sure I’m not leaving words unsaid.

Sadly, I am not perfect, and will make mistakes – I’m only human after all. But I strive to keep them to a minimum.

Perhaps you could stop for a moment and take stock. Who do you need to speak to? If you were to die today, are their words you've left unsaid, or will you leave behind a painful memory instead of a fond one? What kind of legacy are you leaving behind?