2014 Week 11: Legacy

What legacy will you leave?  What do you want people to think about when they hear your name and remember one day when you are gone?  I’ve been mulling over these questions lately, and I’ll let you in on the reason why.

Admittedly this post is a little late this week—but for good reason.  I mean who doesn’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day?!  This holiday has a special place in my heart.  And though yes, I have Irish blood running through my veins from both my mother and father’s sides of the family, the main reason this holiday is special is because of my great Aunt Mary.

I grew up living across the street from Aunt Mary from the time I can remember until the 5^th grade.  She was a critical piece of my family.  Aunt Mary was tiny (well, in height anyway), she was single her whole life, was Irish to the core, and she could cook like Martha Stewart, Aunt Jamima, and that angry guy on Hell’s Kitchen all rolled into one!  Aunt Mary was a little cantankerous at times, and frequently she would shoo us kids out of her way when she was rushing around the kitchen.  But here’s the one thing that made an indelible mark on my life: Aunt Mary’s door was always open.  It didn’t matter what day or time we would trot over and ring her doorbell (which we did constantly), we were always welcome.  In fact, every time I visited she made me feel like I had just made her entire day. 

I remember my sister and I racing over to her house one day after school soaked from getting caught in the rain.  Yes, of course we had to walk to school rain or shine because we were tough children of the 80s (well, 70s officially, but 80s by the time we hit school).  Aunt Mary welcomed us in, toweled us off, and let us take turns wearing that cool spacey contraption that was like a combo hairdryer/ugly hat.  Aunt Mary hosted the major holidays—all the extended family would gather around her.  And let me tell you, she was the most popular woman in town during Christmas.  EVERYONE had a present for Aunt Mary!  Aunt Mary made a huge impact on my life—and every single St. Patrick’s Day I remember her with much gratitude for all the richness she added to my world.

So this brings me back to my original questions—how will others remember me when I’m gone?  What is my legacy?  I can’t say I have entirely figured out the answer to this, but one thing I know—I want people to say that this world was a better place because I was in it.  I desire to leave this planet and the people in it in better shape than when I arrived.  I would like those who know me to say I laughed often, I loved deeply, and I lived boldly.  As I read this back, I can’t say that I’ve arrived or earned each of these statements just yet.  So let this be the legacy towards which I strive.

41 Weeks left--here's to making them last!