Our death does not end the development of our legacy. Even after our bodies have been put to rest, our character will keep moving on. Who we are in our universe and what the world thinks of us continue to be formed and revised, even when we’re gone. I watched this happen when people talked to me about their departed family members and friends and imbued them with the emotional fibre of those who are still alive. As their stories were being told, the deceased leapt into our conversations, sometimes radiating kindness and consideration, other times trailing chains of hurt and anger.
If we take our legacy seriously, we’ll put our lives under a microscope and assess whether our pursuits and our behaviour are consistent with our goals and our values. After this scrutiny, we might decide to refocus our lives to realize unfulfilled dreams while there is still time, or to follow new-found convictions. We might decide to give more to others through volunteering and charitable donations, including bequests we could set up while we’re alive.
If we act with an eye to a future-without-us, we might find the courage to deal with the fallout from difficult decisions. We might face our responsibility to clean up our mess—not just those unsorted papers and piles of memorabilia—but the personal entanglements that, if left untended, can leave heartache and acrimony. We might be clear about our bequests and provide fulsome explanations, articulated with compassion and love. We might take steps to minimize the pain of those we leave behind. Maybe if our lives are driven by good values, we might even inspire others to continue our legacy.
The people I interviewed for this book were provoked by their musings about legacy, and many told me about their personal resolutions. One of KS’s colleagues is going to write a letter to her family and leave it with her will—as KS did. Dorothy made a commitment to herself to continue to increase her charitable giving because she realized she had the means. John, who has been sitting on his unsigned will for four to five years, decided to talk to his partner, rewrite his will based on their conversation and sign it.
After our conversation, Liv wrote her memoir and presented copies as gifts to her family, and now her husband feels compelled to do the same. Phyllis is going to try to make amends with her brother because she doesn’t want that fissure to be part of her legacy. Meredith is going to find a long-term volunteer commitment that could become the organization for her memorial donation. Henry and Derek are working to turn the lessons from their mentoring relationship into a training tool to create a legacy from what they learned together.
Distilled to their essence, these stories are about love, because life is a journey of the heart. By paying attention to our legacy, we are demonstrating our caring for one another, and we are expressing gratitude for this glorious gift of life. Now that I know more about KS’s legacy, I understand that her life and her death embody this approach. She lived large and, at the same time, thought carefully about her afterlife. When her professional colleagues and the recipients of her scholarship speak and write about her, it is with admiration, gratitude and respect. Her family and friends talk about her the same way, and also with love and laughter.
As for me, writing this book has freed me from my narrow preoccupation with viewing KS’s legacy as a memorial fund or tribute program. I understand that my grief was searching for a cosmic vehicle that would somehow embody my lost friend so we could be reunited. Now I accept that, while the public tributes are important, only the multi-faceted memories held in the minds of her beloved can do her full justice. KS loved to sing and that’s how one friend remembers her. “Every time I hear a first soprano sing her notes with vigour and enthusiasm, I think of KS,” the friend says. “She had a special way of conveying the musical message, be it in the church choir or at parties where the repertoire was more mundane. We had a good friendship, we laughed a lot together, but we also had serious discussions. And she’s the only person to have ever swum around the island where we have our cottage. My husband followed her in a rowboat.”
KS’s sister emphasizes both KS’s full-bore life and her meticulous preparation for death. “She was fully expecting to live forever and had fabulous plans for the future,” she says. “But she left nothing undone. She poured herself into her boys while she was alive, and she was thinking of them and the rest of us by leaving her affairs in perfect order. And I just realized that it’s because of her influence that I’m now trying to live a bit larger. At our choir, KS loved the spotlight and was very comfortable standing out. I was always content to be in the background. Now, at my advanced age, I’m taking her lead and coming out. I’m putting on a solo recital, complete with printed program, and inviting my family and friends to the performance. I guess this show honours my sister’s legacy to me.”
I can bring KS back in a flash. Here we are on a road trip in her Volvo—an amazing car for a university student, but her older brother had a dealership and wanted her to be safe. Our ritual on these trips was to recite Monty Python skits to one another, trying to outdo each other with cleverness. This time, one or the other of us scored big—maybe it was with the “Dead Parrot” skit—and we were in gales of laughter, tears streaming down our faces. KS had to pull the car to the side of the road until we calmed down. And when we got back on the road, we called a “time out” to pull ourselves together. Knowing her delightful and quirky sense of humour, I suppose an appropriate memorial for KS from my perspective would be a scholarship to a wacky comedy troupe. But that’s just one of the memories I have of her, and there are countless more, each one highlighting yet another aspect of her multi-layered being. And as you have read, I’m only one of the many, many people who still feel her presence deeply.
KS’s life is a lesson in accepting life’s duality and acknowledging the double-pronged nature of legacy. If I were to follow her lead, I would strive to live as though I have all the time in the world to realize my dreams and make a contribution, while accepting that I may die at any moment. I would practise feeling profoundly alive in the moment at the same time that I am sensing the warm breath of death on my cheek. I would make thoughtful preparations for the end while maintaining a viselike grip on life everlasting. Mainly, I would try to follow her example of living a life that makes a difference while leaving a legacy of love and laughter.