All of us, elders especially, want to leave
something meaningful behind
One well-known archetype that resonates within the collective unconscious is that of the elder storyteller. Does an image spring to your mind? Often it’s a white-haired man or woman, a dignified figure, one who holds others spellbound around a campfire at night listening to their tales of the ancestors.
Elder storytellers mold our understanding of who we are, where we came from, and where we are going. They embody wisdom.
The life path our elders forged long ahead of us is one we may follow, consciously or unconsciously, until the time when we ourselves step into the same, sacred role.
Time and again, I’ve watched elders awaken to an urge to pass on their beliefs and life lessons to the younger generation. They become storytellers. Sometimes it’s only verbal. Other times, people write memoirs, ethical wills, and legacy letters. They may create videos, photo albums, or mementos.
People want to leave something meaningful behind that speaks to who they were and what they loved.
My father, who passed in 2014, created children’s toys and artwork for adults made of wood. He loved working with wood and was expert at it. Our entire family owns various pieces Daddy crafted, delicate figurines now displayed on our shelves and desks.
Next to my bed sits an old-fashioned cradle handcrafted by my father. It was my baby daughter’s first bed after her birth. Its rocking feet were unintentionally broken years ago by my grandchildren, who clambered inside the cradle to “play baby.”
Legacies are your gifts to the world
Today Daddy’s hooded, wooden cradle holds my bed pillows and extra quilts—one quilt made by my long-gone grandmother, and the other by my mother, who passed in 2024.
Hidden in the depths of my intimate clothing dresser drawer lies a small, still-fragrant sachet designed and sewed by my mother. It’s lime green—my favorite color. It’s made from leftover cloth from a lovely dress Mom made for me when I was a teenager. She created similar sachets for all her daughters and granddaughters. Each sachet was unique to its owner in some special way.
On a bookcase shelf in my home office, a three-ring binder holds copies of my mother’s 30-page memoir and handwritten genealogy charts. Before she died, Mom read her memoir aloud to us four grown children, a few pages at a time after dinner. We laughed; we shed tears; we reminisced.
We said things like, “That’s not exactly how I remember it!” And then we each shared our own versions of family memories, which brought us to new realizations and heartfelt appreciation for one another.
Legacy writing and keepsakes like the ones described above tell friends and family what mattered to you and why you mattered to others. They bequeath your love and special messages to those you cherished.
Legacies are your gifts to the world, because you yourself are a gift to the world. You matter. We all do.
My blogs and books are my legacy. Your stories are, as well. Who knows how long our writings will last on the “forever” Internet? Centuries, maybe? Will our great-great grandchildren someday read the words we write today? What will they think of us?
The sacred role of storyteller
I spent my career writing nonfiction, mostly business oriented, although in the latter years I specialized in healthcare public relations and medical writing. I’m retired now, but still writing — and will be until my final days. Being older than 75, I’m probably closer to my finish line than you are.
Writing feels like delightful work—even play—most of the time, but at other times, not so much. If you are like me, you may sometimes regard writing as a chore.
In “The Alchemy of Chores,” a worthwhile little book with big ideas, author Nick Wroblewski says simple chores hold the power to restore order, clarity, and a sense of peace.
Displaying solid insight, Wroblewski explains, “Closets aren’t just for storage. They’re mirrors of the mind.” For example, his closet mirrored his problem of procrastination. He overcame that problem by changing the dreaded task of organizing his closet into a meaningful ritual through mindfulness and a sense of creating sacred space.
Author Wroblewski provides readers with examples of chore mantras, such as chanting “Fresh clothes, fresh start, fresh mindset” as he does laundry. His little book totally changed how I now regard my household chores.
The same goes for the “chore” of writing. When we write, we create sacred space in our minds. Writing is a meaningful ritual, one that has the power to transform both writer and reader. I try to keep that knowledge upmost in mind as I write.
And as I age, I see even more clearly how important it is to take my place in society as an elder storyteller.
In the retirement community where I live, the value of personal storytelling is something I encounter daily. Many of my neighbors, like my own mother, express a strong desire to leave behind a written legacy as a testament to who they were, what they thought, and how they lived.
Last year, I facilitated a Lifelong Learning class called, “Memoir Writing for Seniors.” Almost 20 people signed up. Most held the attitude “It’s not all about me—it’s about my family, my heritage and what I’ve learned.” Their main goal was to help others.
None of us were fully prepared for the emotional depth of the discussions we shared in that class. It was a turbulent time for me, because my mother was placed under hospice care shortly before I began teaching the 9-week course, held April 4 through May 28.
Mother died April 29. She lived in Texas; I lived in Colorado.
Wrestling with caregiving responsibilities and my yearning to be with Mom, versus the obligation and a sincere longing to teach my memoir class, is a topic I return to again and again in my personal storytelling. I found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Thank heaven for my brother and two sisters. We all took part in caregiving for Mom and ensuring she had a good end of life.
Do you want to ensure a good end of life for a loved one—and you? You may be surprised at how legacy writing can contribute to such a goal. Andrew Weil, MD, a renowned doctor and expert on integrative medicine and mind-body interactions, describes legacy writing as documenting one’s life experiences and values for family and friends as a farewell gift—one which also restores the writer.
My own legacy writing, and that of my late mother, has proven Dr. Weil to be correct.
Documenting one’s life is definitely something AI can never accomplish. Neither can any other human being. It’s something only you can do, and you mostly do it by yourself, about yourself, and for yourself, as well as for your loved ones.
“Ethical Wills” or “Legacy Letters”
Sometimes called “Ethical Wills” or “Legacy Letters,” these types of documents are a way to preserve a snapshot of yourself for your family and descendants. Legacy documents can pass on your beliefs, life lessons, and personal philosophy. Unlike a legal will, an ethical will is not a legal document, but it can designate who is to receive certain valuables and family heirlooms, such as cherished artwork, woodwork, quilts, furniture, jewelry and just about anything other than your most significant assets or property.
Legacy documents can also tell your friends and family what you are most grateful for and proud of. You can write about forgiveness, the values you’ve lived by, your hopes for your descendants’ lifestyles, or how you would live your own life over again—if given the chance. You can bequeath your love and wisdom to those who matter to you most.
You may write your documents in the form of a single letter, multiple letters, or even a memoir—anything from one page long to fifty pages and more. Your legacy projects may include video, photo albums, and other mementos as well. The choice is yours.