Each weekend, I usually spend time with a dearly beloved elderly friend. She usually tells me lots of stories and we share much laughter over tea and biscotti. Lately, she has been feeding me the important stories of her life, not just the many exciting adventures throughout her many years but the truths of her life.
This has left me reflecting on what kind of a legacy I will be leaving behind. I used to think that it would be my writings throughout the years that I’ve packed and stored. (You know the ones that no one ever reads until someone dies!) It was three boxes. I decided a few years ago that I really didn’t want people freaking out reading some of the morbid things I wrote during a state of depression. I threw all of those out and lessened my load down to two boxes. Last year I started going through some of them to find that I had a second copy of said morbid works. This time I kept them because I realize that they tell a story of who I was at the time. If I am going to leave a piece of me behind, it may as well be a legacy of truth.
As I thought about how much my writing tells who I am, I came to the conclusion that my writing does not define me. I am so much more than words on a piece of paper. Will I be defined by the stitches of love in the quilts I’ve designed or will I reside in the jewelry or other crafts I’ve created? What will be my mark on the world? I’m hoping that I will live on in the hearts of those I’ve touched. Will my memory reside in a warm embrace I have exchanged or in words of advice I’ve given? Will I be remembered for the love and time given to the care of small children? Or duties carries out in other jobs I’ve held? Will my friendship stand out for some? Will my life be described as a wife and mother and nothing in between? I suppose I will never know those answers.
As much as I have called my sensitivity a curse in my life, it has also been a catalyst. Without this heightened state of being, I would never have lived life to the fullest. Internally, that is. There are many things I have not accomplished or even attempted, however, I have felt all of my experiences to the core of my being. And my friends, that is truly living. I suppose by some standards that would make me an introvert, yes those people that the wild and crazy ones feel sorry for. Don’t feel sorry for me that I haven’t traveled to far away lands, for I have traveled to them in my heart which is exactly my preference. I want to be a person without regrets. I want to be remembered as the person who cried with others and helped them find the courage within themselves to get back up. I want to be remembered as the person who pointed out the extraordinary qualities of what they called their ordinary lives. I want the people in my life to remember how they felt when they were with me. I want to be the smiles on their faces when they think of me. I want to be the memory of love, laughter, and life in their hearts.
****The hard drive on my laptop is fried! I know horrible…out of the ashes the hope is that it is under warranty. I have had it a little over a year and only thought I had a one year warranty, but fortunately it looks like I have a two year warranty. Bad news is that not every thing is retrievable. Totally sucks, but such it is. Anyway, I will have to skip around from desk top to desk top here at home, so I won’t be as quick at reading or commenting on your blogs for at least probably three days. Another thing is that my favorites are gone…so unless I was smart enough to put you on my blog roll or you’ve left me a comment in the past, it may be quite a while before I find your blog again. Please leave me a comment and I will book mark you as soon as my baby is well again!