My wife and I recently returned from a lovely trip to Sicily, the southernmost region of Italy. It’s a beautiful island — coastlines surrounded by mountains and an active volcano, Mount Etna, near the eastern shores. (It was a little too active for me, spitting out smoke and ash…). We toured a Greek temple, built over 2,500 years ago, that still stands today. Little is known about the people who built it. It’s one of the best-preserved Greek temples in Europe.
It made me wonder — what will we leave behind 2,500 years from now? What will archeologists find in Washington state in the year 4,500? Digging into the earth, will they find cell phone shards, shells of computers, and pieces of rusted automobiles? I don’t think they will last that long.
Will some of the great books of the 21st century still be available? Will they find some of our music and art? What will our civilization leave behind and what will come after us? It’s hard to imagine how our world will look after such a vast period of time. I’m sure the Greek builders in 450 BC couldn’t possibly imagine what their world would look like 2,000 years later.
What will I leave behind? What will my grandchildren remember about me? In my life, I remember my great-grandmother, who lived almost a century. I remember her smile and her warmth but little else. I knew little about her life. I know nothing about her ancestors — what they did or who they were. I never met my maternal grandmother, who died when my mother was 18. My grandchildren never met my mother or father. They are just names that they’ve heard. They ask me about my parents and can’t imagine who they were.
Most of us don’t leave behind great scientific discoveries, world-changing inventions or major works of literature or art that the generations to come will know about. We won’t leave behind great architectural wonders, like the Greek temple in Sicily. We live ordinary lives. We’re ordinary people. And yet, we do have an impact on our family, our friends and perhaps our community. But what will that impact be?
I hope my grandchildren will remember some of the joy we had together, playing in the sand, or going to the zoo. I hope that they will tell loving stories to their grandchildren about me. I hope my children will remember the love I had for them. I hope that they will think of me as being kind, generous, and loving. I hope my colleagues at The Everett Clinic, when they have retired, will remember my contributions to the community. I hope my patients, when they grow old, will remember how I showed up for them when they needed a helping hand. I hope that my friends and family will feel that I have touched their lives in a meaningful way.
We can’t control the future. But today, we can aspire to be the men and women that we hope to be. And when we do that, we can touch the lives of others. And we can leave behind the remnants of that loving connection.
Paul Schoenfeld is a clinical psychologist at The Everett Clinic. His Family Talk blog can be found at www. everettclinic.com/ healthwellness-library.html.
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