On Legacy

"What's in the trunk, Auntie Laura?"

Corinne had sequestered me away in our dressing room, away from "the boys" so she could change into her jammies.  She's five and incredibly inquisitive...alert and sensitive in a way you don't see with every child. I know I am biased but I still recall when she was three and we were in an import shop together in Provincetown. Corinne was playing with some scarves and came out from behind a rack draped in a deep blue silk scarf with a rich star pattern. Something about her in that moment took my breath away. I looked over to the shop keeper, a woman from Tibet, and she was equally transfixed.

"A little Buddha! Every child is beautiful. Special.  But this one...you can see..."

Yes, I could see.

Corinne is the first of my nieces and nephews to ask about the contents of the trunk.

"Oh, it has old pictures and stuff."

"Can I see?"

"Sure."

I opened the trunk which has collected various bits of memorabilia since we moved here 8 years ago.  I lifted the lid and there, at the top, were the most recent additions.  Photocopies of the front page article in the newspaper with the picture of Michael and I going down the red carpet the night they retired his hockey jersey.  A copy of the book Patrick Weiland has compiled in memory of his sister after her murder. The latter includes several essays I had written about the impact of the Weiland family coming in to my life and Patrick's thoughts on our connection as well.

We moved those things aside so I could show Corinne a painting of a portrait.

"Do you know who this is?"

"Jacob?" (her 11 year old cousin).

"Nope."

"Daddy?"

"No. It's your Grandpa Frank." It was a portrait of him when he was in the Air Force.  "Here's another picture." I held up on from when he must have been in his later 30s.

"Oh, I can see that."  Corinne could see the grandfather she knows now at 75 emerging from the photo.

I smiled, mostly at her thinking the Air Force portrait was Jacob.  From the very first time I saw him at 3 days old, he looked like my father, and Jason.  Something about a 5 year old seeing the thread run through three generations touched me.

And as I glanced over to Patrick's book I realized that it will be my nieces and nephews who will be disbursing my belongings when I go.  Hmm, what stories they will find. We may never have occassion to talk about Sue Weiland. By the time they are old enough to grasp the story, much time will have passed. But the story is here, very well preserved by Patrick, and will wait for them in my trunk. 

In that moment, I started to understand legacy, started to feel it in a way I never had before.  It isn't about setting up beneficiaries, or establishing trust funds.  It's about the stories we leave behind.  It's what we leave them of who we were and how we chose to give ourselves to the world. It's not about what we owned, but who we loved and how well. It's about how we carry all their stories with us, too.

My trunk is a time capsule.  Their Uncle Scotty is in there. And their parents, their aunties. Grandparents.  But I'm in there also. 

When I read Patrick's book...saw our story from his point of view...sounds odd to say that, I know, because this is about the death of his sister, but he said it to me, that this is also my story...and it is.  The intersection of our lives.  When I read it, start to finish, just a few days before Corinne got here, I saw it. I saw myself doing my work in the world. I don't mean coaching. I don't mean work for money. I mean showing up and participating. Writing from my heart long before Patrick ever met me for him to find years later and for him to deliver to his sister nearly a year after that. 

When I saw little Corinne and imagined her opening the trunk one day without me here and picking up that book it made me glad to know that I am leaving something of value.  It made me want to create a beautiful time capsule for my little peewees. In this weird way it made me excited about what they will find when I am gone...like one last present under the tree when you clear away all the discarded ribbon and wrapping paper...one present back in the corner that you didn't know was there...one that someone took years to make for you, by hand, with a handwritten note attached.

That's part of why I've been a bit scarce here. I'm steeping.  I want to go through my trunk myself and see what is in there and clear out what doesn't belong.  Clear away the meaningless clutter so that they can see the truest story, separate the rhinestones from the diamonds.

And that has implications for the rest of what I do as well.  Those writings, many of them, started out online, here, or at AntWatcher, long since abandoned it seems.  There are some things I have done that I am proud of, that I feel good about leaving the kids.  There are words that I think will stand the test of time...thoughts on love and grief and joy and death. All things that await them.  I want to leave them something of what I have learned along the way.

I'm not so much interested in doing non-legacy worthy work anymore.

Doesn't mean I will hit a homerun every time or that I am the last stop for all words of wisdom, but it gives me something of a litmus test.  How long will blogs last in cyberspace? How long will Dragon Slayer's Guide be able to be found?  Years? Decades? The rest of my life? After I am gone?

If my niece one day Googles me twenty years from now, if Googling still exists, and stumbles on me here, will she want to make a cup of tea, and light some incense and read this? 

She won't if it's all about me ranting about coaching or talking about marketing, or just putting filler in to keep imaginary insistent and fickle readers satisfied. 

So, this blog...whatever I do...it's part of my time capsule.  My message in a bottle for 4 little kids that I love more than I have words for. 

They talk about thinking out seven generations when we think of our impact on the world. Suddenly I'm starting to see that.  The wisdom of it and the necessity of it.

The world has lacked, tragically, for worthy elders. We have stopped repecting many of them, and many of them never stepped up to the plate to begin with.  You don't get the stripes just by marking days off a calendar.  You earn them by cultivating a life worth remembering, worth remembering because you were willing to forget yourself and look to the larger picture. You earn them through Service. If you want to be respected as an elder, you have to start with a clear understanding of self-respect. You can't give from an empty well, and I'm not just talking about depletion here.  I mean you have to have water worth drinking in there. And you have to realize that you have been building your life and your legacy all along.  Even today. Even now.

Hannah, my other niece, once told my sister, "Aunt Laura is a good kid watcher."

"You mean a babysitter?"

"No, she's just good at watching kids."

They've got my attention.  I want them to know they were loved and will continue to be loved by me long after my time on earth is over. 

I'll take you with me as I go (in creating my time capsule, not into the Great Beyond...sheesh, don't get so nervous!). I expect my own thoughts on legacy, right work and such matters will be evolving considerably as I go and I welcome your thoughts and musings as we travel along. I do have some thoughts on retirement as well, but that will have to come later as I'm off to see Michael this afternoon.

And, Dick, I didn't lose track of your question about my photography. I'm just amazingly inarticulate about it right now but it'll come.  It's a great question and not an answer I can rush. I may have to circle around it for a while.

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Comments

[Kate]

Just as my eyes welled up you crack wise & make me laugh. Thanks, again...
love you...

[Di]

I just came from Erin's vignettes from the road where I had been a bit teary by the end and then I found the same kind of upwelling emotion over here.

Beautifully captured. It left me thinking about daughters and granddaughters. Thank you.

[Brent P. Newhall]

Beautiful. Best of luck.

[Jason]

She's a little muse isn't she? I just keep thinking about how lucky I am to be a part of Corinne's life. To have the opportunity to have an impact in the life of such a great little person is such an honor and a delight. You're a very cool aunt, thanks for that.