Heritage
Image
from Pixabay
It
happens to all of us, I suppose. Sometimes like a rock shattering the
windshield of the car you’re driving. Sometimes like a dawn that flows through
ninety gradations of ebony before you’re quite certain the sky is actually
lightening.
I
can’t remember the first time, but I’ve had experiences both jarring and subtle
since that evoke the empty and aching sensation of realizing my mortality for
the first time. People my age no longer die in Viet Nam, from multiple drug
overdoses or from drag racing on public streets. Now the killers are lingering
illnesses, cancer and heart attacks.
So
I wonder, will I be remembered? By whom? For what?
My
father’s World War II infantry battalion has stopped having reunions. There are
not many survivors left from those times. It was not a good war. There are no
good wars. It was good to win a war against foes who acted on the belief that
only the chosen few with racial purity and superiority were fully human. I’ve
never done anything nearly as important as those soldiers did.
I spent
thirty years of my life as a clinical psychologist. For close to a decade now,
nobody has come up to me, saying I used to be their therapist. That was always gratifying.
I could never identify former clients by their faces. I had thousands of
clients over the course of my career. Even the youngest clients I saw have to
be adults now.
The
institutions I support, such as charities, churches and schools, were built and
maintained before I came along by people I’ve never heard of. I hope those in
the future who will know nothing of me will continue to support heritages of
caring.
Friends
and family will, I think, retain some memories of me and those people will
become memories of future generations. When the last person with a memory of me
dies, will I be gone?
I’m
vain enough to hope that my writing will outlast personal recollections, but I
do not have a complete record of all I’ve written. Where do e-articles in
e-zines that no longer exist go? Print books disintegrate and burn. Audio
deteriorates. I have successful author friends whose new books go out of
publication in an amazingly short period of time.
In
my will I have arranged a series of bequests to groups of people I don’t know
personally who do important work. The groups are run by people I’ve never met.
My donations have been anonymous. I smile to my self when I imagine them
saying,
“He’s
not on any donor list. I don’t think I ever met the man. Who was he, anyway?”
Warren,
ReplyDeleteConsidering our mortality is a painful subject. We hope to be remembered in some way. As to writing, who knows? Being generous to worthy causes is certainly worthwhile. If you have family and friends, perhaps they will value your work.
When I was younger I would wonder if anything I did would be remembered -- for a part of you remains present as long as someone tells a story that includes you.
ReplyDeleteIn later years, I've realized that every interaction I have modifies the world, yes even the universe, in some very small way that I may not recognize. Now, I strive to live in the moment in a manner I won't be embarrassed by if called to task. Emphasis there is on the striving, not my success.
Is it comforting to realize that, once we are dead, we will not care whether we are remembered or not? Or is that a disconcerting thought?
ReplyDeleteI know I am not a person destined to do great things. I subscribe to the more plebian role of offering opportunity and support to the world, one person at a time.
And I try to live in such a way that, if everyone lived by the principles that I embrace, the world would be a better place.
I live with no regrets and in anticipation of what the next day will bring.
ReplyDeleteI'm sure you made a big difference to your counseling clients, Warren. The effects of your work with them has surely improved their lives and the lives of those around them.
ReplyDeleteWarren, I agree with Shari. Every so often I hear from someone that they talked to a former student of mine or their parents and they say what a great third grade teacher I was. I have three living children now, six grandchildren if you count my step-grandchildren, too, who consider me their grandmother. I have seven great-grandchildren, and four living siblings and numerous niece and nephews, too, as well as cousins by the dozens since my father was one of 11 children. I belong to two book clubs, two writers groups so I'm sure I won't be forgotten by them if they live longer than I do.
ReplyDeleteAnd if I outlive almost everyone in my life there is the tombstone in the cemetery by my son, six-year old granddaughter and not too far from my parents that my ex-husband bought for me before he died with my epitaph on it "Teacher, writer, poet It also has my picture on it the same as does my son's tombstone and my granddaughter's tombstone.
I'm not concerned about the way I'm remembered. I'm concerned about the people I support and who will take my place when I'm gone. Perhaps until I know that I have been replaced--I'll keep doing what I'm doing. I only hope that I am replaced and those who I support will have some else to love them.
ReplyDelete