We all want to make a difference, touch someone’s life, be remembered.
I’d like to think I’m going to write and publish a best-selling novel that will resonate and help keep my memory alive long after I’m gone. But that’s a big thing.
Of course, my children are a legacy I am proud of and hope that they will pass along my histories after I’m no longer making them. I think they’re pretty big things, too.
But today is not about big things. It’s about the little things that keep us connected, bring a glow to our cheeks, a sparkle to our eye, and have lasting, if subtle, purpose.
The inspiration for this blog was the laptop lifty thing that my computer rests on, lifting and angling for easier access and less stress on my wrists. I thank Kathleen for this modern technological piece of handy-dandy writerly equipment. And I thank her often, in my head, as I sit here and type type type in newfound comfort.
Tiny remembrances (and thanks) fill my days.
Music is a huge trigger for fond memories. Every time I hear the Who, I think of Carol. Every Baba O’Reilly, Squeezebox, and Who are You makes me feel close to her, even though she lives half a nation away. Dave and I planned our wedding around the INXS tickets we’d already purchased. Nine Days was my daughter’s first concert without me. Story of a Girl still warms my heart because I remember how wonderfully excited she was.
John Denver was my mother’s favorite singer. I would never change the station on him, but I will admit it’s easier to sing along with Thank God I’m a Country Boy than it is Sunshine on my Shoulder.
(I’m a crier.)
I love XM radio because of its memory-churning ability.
There are reminders everywhere.
In my fridge, haha…
Joanne introduced me to avocados. Every time I eat an avocado, I think of Joanne, and I thank her. I really like avocados.
When Jen and I went to NYC, we actually heard a guy say “Fughedabowdid.” Not only did that totally make our trip (!), but every time I hear it now, I think of her (and affect a New Yawk accent, at least for a little while).
Every mohawk or purple haired kid is a tribute to Zach.
I will never again see a lunch box and not think of the kindness of Mike.
I have a problem with cuticle picking. I’ll pull at any sliver of loose skin around my nails, sometimes causing deep gouges of missing flesh. With frequent bleeding. Jean’s daughter Tessa introduced me to Burt’s Bees cuticle cream, “I rub it in before bed and in the morning your fingers will be nice and soft.” Whenever I use my cuticle cream, at night as directed, I think of Tessa. This association is particularly important because Tessa passed a few years ago. But she’s with me, and my cuticles, still.
As a mini-hoarder, I am surrounded by grin (or smirk, same difference) inducing memorabilia. (I don’t keep things that don’t have a positive attachment.) Tickets and stickers and post cards. I love that we went there and saw that. I love that one time we did that one thing. I love that every time I see this I think of you.
We all touch people in ways that we might not even realize. And we all remember people for the silly, spontaneous, passing, seemingly unimportant ways they touch us.
Those things, the little things, they are important.
They are our legacy.