I never thought much about legacy until recently.
But now, in my 60s, it’s something I can’t stop thinking about.
My grandkids are growing so fast. They have their own sports, school, friends, and phones that keep them busy all the time. And as much as they love me, I can feel myself slipping further into the background of their lives.
It’s not a dramatic thing. It’s just… quiet. The phone rings less. The visits feel shorter. And sometimes I wonder: when I’m gone, what will they really remember of me? The truth is, I’ve seen what happens. I’ve helped clean out boxes after loved ones passed. Clothes got donated. Furniture got sold. And the things that once meant so much ended up tossed aside.
That thought breaks my heart.
Decades of life, love, and stories — reduced to moving boxes.