The Importance of Legacy

This past year, I’ve been giving more thought to legacy and how we are remembered after we’re gone. It might be because I turned thirty this year, or it might be because I’ve attended more funerals this year than I have in my entire life. My grandmother didn’t want to have a service, and we aren’t going to have one for her. Even if someone doesn’t have a service after their death, their family members and loved ones still will remember them for something. The first funeral I attended this year was uplifting, and I left hoping to be remembered as the deceased was. A few weeks ago, I participated in a funeral that I left feeling very differently.

As we age, we come to understand our family members differently. My relationship with my mom’s stepfather had always been warm if a bit distant. I don’t know if anyone besides my grandmother had a close relationship with me. Before attending his funeral, I knew the service would focus on his public service while living in Suwanee. When the first speaker mentioned that we would later hear how much of a family man he had been, I blinked in confusion. My grandfather had many excellent qualities, but was not an involved father. The next hour highlighted his dedication to public art and public literacy, and how much everyone who had worked with him in local politics had enjoyed his company.  

I thought I knew what he had been doing in public service, but I learned a few new things. One of his cornerstone projects was a new park that I disliked. I was repeatedly stunned by how much people stated they had done for them professionally and personally. They mentioned what a pleasant companion he was. I left the funeral thinking, Where was this person in our relationship? One person who spoke said he called her regularly. They talked for almost an hour. A pang of sadness hit me. He never called me for hour-long conversations about anything. I always had to call him if we ever spoke on the phone. Most of the funeral speakers felt like they were saying continuously, ” Your grandfather would rather have spent time with us than you. We made him feel important, powerful, and seen. You weren’t able to do that.”

Over the years, I have tried to build a closer relationship with my grandfather. I spent the first part of therapy, in fact, trying to figure out how to coexist more comfortably with him and my grandmother. Over the years, I took him out to lunch, ventured into difficult conversations, and asked questions I yearned to have answered. I never got answers. Lunches were pleasant, but were not often reciprocated. I would usually leave them hollow. Eventually, the lunches were too painful to continue. It felt as if I were signing up to be repeatedly rejected. I still stayed in contact with him; we would talk on the phone, but I was tired of trying to force something that would never be.

The part of the funeral I related to the most was his son’s eulogy. He said, ” I didn’t know my father well, and there are gaps in what I know about him.” Hearing that his son had also experienced a distance relationship was affirming. I had not done something wrong. I hadn’t cried since his death, but the tears began flowing during the eulogy. I left the funeral shaking with tears and rage. He had been praised and done good for so many people. I have positive memories of him, but there had been so much pain and confusion. Trying to build a relationship with him had been like reaching for a ghost. He existed and was there, but never as present as you would want him to be. Emotional vulnerability or authenticity was nonexistent. Accountability was for others. I’d had enough.

My wonderful boyfriend took me out for dinner, and it took me several days to feel like myself again. I understand it’s not entirely up to me how I’m remembered. I will not be speaking at my own funeral. I do my best to live in a way that doesn’t harm others and try to be kind. I know I’m not perfect. I fear hurting people, but what I fear more than hurting those that I love is that they won’t feel comfortable telling me that I’ve caused them pain. I have a deep desire and commitment to getting better at not becoming overly emotional during conflict because I’ve become acutely aware, as I’ve gotten older, that getting overly emotional tends to take the attention off of the person who’s being vulnerable.

The idea of legacy has always been abstract and confusing to me. I’ve heard of leaving a financial legacy, such as an inheritance for children and other relatives, but I’ve also heard of legacies regarding values or family heirlooms. It was easier when I was younger to pretend I would live forever. As my parents get older and I age, it’s not lost on me that no one lives forever. I tell people I love them and do my best to settle any grievances while there is still time. I did try to have the conversations with my grandfather that I was desperate to have while he was alive, but it takes two to resolve. Part of my legacy when I am gone is that I took accountability for my actions when confronted with painful information. A way I do that now is to apologize when I feel I’ve done something wrong. Even if it’s something I did days or months ago, I will still go back to that person and apologize for what I did that caused harm.

I don’t share what I’m trying to do differently to show that I’m better than my grandfather. I hope that I don’t leave my loved ones with the pain, unanswered questions, and longing that his family members have been left with. Something I want to be aware of with my own family, marriage, and children as I move towards that phase of life, is educating my children on intergenerational trauma, mental illness, and awareness of one’s emotional inner life. My parents did a good job starting the conversation and normalizing mental health, especially removing the stigma I felt when I went through my own mental health crisis. I hope that I’m able to take it a step further. I want to talk to my children about how it feels physiologically to feel grief, happiness, and anger. I want to emphasize to them that people often react to us based on their own experiences, rather than on us.

I didn’t have many conversations with my grandfather about his childhood and what it was like for him. I’m aware that what was lacking in our relationship stemmed from something that he was struggling with. It doesn’t lessen the sting of rejection I felt over the years or at his funeral, but it does give me compassion for him. As I move forward in life, I plan to continue living in a way that helps others and eventually build a family that prioritizes closeness, love, and peace. Ultimately, we can’t entirely control what we’re remembered for; we need to live in a way that aligns with our values.