Leaving A Legacy/ Notes To My Children

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Thanks for an inspiring post! A really thought provoking post. It got me thinking about setting my own legacy and re-validating the reason why I am staying home to spend time with the kids this year. Thanks for sharing this wonderful post! I got some pondering and praying to do! I keep a journal on Google Docs. In some form or other, I have kept the same journal since my eldest was a baby.

It started as a simple to-do list, but then I annotating what happened during the day with just a few words added to my completed to-do items. It was a short step to cutting and pasting those passages to the bottom of my to-do list, and voila! It became a journal! My to-do list has the following captions: If I have a longterm goal, I can put it in Someday. When I think back to my childhood, it is the memories of the day to day that I treasure, not the yearly camping trip or what my mom served for Christmas dinner.

This day to day recording of our family life is what I want to give to my children, just as the raising of wonderful children is my hopeful legacy to them. Sometimes these letters are about times we have shared together that have meant so much to me. Other times I have written when too emotional at the time to express my thoughts verbally, or want to remind them of something of importance. I have my thoughts and expectations in writing. For example, one of our children is musically gifted so there are lots of praises to God in the Psalms margins praising God for this child who loves to use her musical gift to praise God and to give us joy.

Another child is always smiling, funny, etc. Our other child, even while very young is a natural teacher, so in scriptures regarding wisdom and instruction, there are comments and praise for her. There are also comments praising God for giving me a Godly husband to join me in raising our children. Oh this just speaks to me… on so many levels. Im trying now how to pare down my blog list that I follow… ungh…. Thanks for the reminder that all of these blogs are to help us live our lives, not distract us from them.

I think about this all the time. The problem I have is that I choose the legacy 75 percent of the time, which leaves only 25 percent of me to get housework, etc. And when I see that mountain of laundry or the piles of dog hair gathering in the corners of the room, I feel like I am failing. How do I even begin to let go of the guilt so that I can enjoy the legacy I am creating? I love this Megan! I recently struggled through the same thoughts. The God of the universe knows my name and that is all the fame I need. I absolutely love this post.

My parents were all about spending time with us. I am making sure my husband and I are doing the same. My inlaws are not this way so, I am having to explain to my husband these little moments at the dinner table or talking to them instead of watching tv are important. Wow, thank you Megan, this post just confirms what has been on my mind the past few days on changes I need to make in the way I spend my time with the ones I love the most. My husband went in with him on the last time to tuck him in and he ended up laying down in bed with him and just listening to him and Logan they share a room talk about their day and what was on their minds.

What a lovely way to start the new year! Life is always trying to make us busy and speed by too quickly. Oh Megan, these are such wise and timely words! Thank you for your honest admonitions. I have been noticing recently that when we spend extended periods of time without any screen — computer, tv, smartphone — our quality of life is just completely different. I already commented over at your own blog, but just wanted to echo the applause here.

I love what you said about not wanting to be just a silhouette — I think about how hollow, shallow and busy I must seem. This morning, around 5 am my son almost 2 woke up crying. I went in and rocked him for about 5 minutes and put him back in his bed. I wanted to get back in my own bed myself! Grace abounds with most children—even grown ones! Technology, and so many other things, can be a real thief if we are not conscientious and intentional. I like the way your friend put it and you are wise to take it to heart.

Thank you for sharing and also for the reminder about grace. We can be so hard on ourselves as moms. I too want to leave behind a love of reading and writing in my kids. To that end, we have a basket full of books in the living room, play room, and each of their bedrooms for them to access at any time. Often my 2 year old just wants to dump the basket but even just this morning he spent 20 minutes in his room reading alone. Like many others, I too am trying to keep this in mind.

Sometimes when I feel ungrounded and unfocused in my parenting and family life, I think to myself that I need to do for my kids what I want done for my grandkids. Our kids are most likely to parent their kids the way we parented them. I loved the line about not being remembered in silhouette, turned to the screen. I found myself nodding at everything you wrote. I want all the same things — my kids to remember me as engaged and caring and kind.

Not distracted and impatient; which is how I sometimes feel. SO, thanks for the thoughts and encouragement. I really loved not only what you had to say in this post but HOW it was said. I will be thinking about this through the week and hope to put my thoughts down on paper. Or even on my blog! What a great post! This was a great reminder; thank you!

What a beautiful essay! I teared up when you mentioned how your mom regrets yelling at times or not playing with you on the floor enough. Anyway, thanks for a great discussion topic for my husband and I to ponder over the coming weeks — and years.

Somedays I feel like I may need a Step Program to keep help me live this on a day-to-day basis. As a mom of 4 grown kids ages , and grandma to 7, I can attest to this. Make the memories you want them to remember, but be sure to give yourself some grace! They need YOU and not all the stuff you could buy them or the extracurricular activities they could do.

Find the meaningful stuff and make it count! Thank you for this, Megan! So, I entered the questions in my journal, and after sitting with them tonight, I plan to start writing tomorrow.

This seems like the perfect way to begin. I have a copy of my essay from that exercise in my control journal and I reread it every so often. As part of our daily routine, we also recite our Family Mission Statement and it helps us to move throughout the day in alignment with our values. I needed to read that and remember to stop, breathe, relax and listen to little ones and enjoy them even if potty training is not going great and the laundry is growing and…and…and… but what matters most is relationships.

This is a very inspiring post. Glad i was able to read this one! It motivates me to appreciate my parents and to become a better parent also to my kids. I agree that our parents leave a remarkable legacy on us… A legacy that will last forever. I hope that that legacy will help us to become good parents to our kids. I love this post… Hope i could read more of your articles. Thank you so much for this post.

To My Family,

I have taken the idea of legacy creation one step further for me and created My Memory Box Project. When my own mother died, I realised that any financial legacy was a paltry offering compared to the love and wisdom that we have to share with our children. I am now in the process of creating a series of videos about my life and my lessons in the hope that they will be of some comfort to my children when I am no longer around to give them the help that they need.

Thank you for this post — it has reassured me that there are like minded hearts and souls out there who realise that our true legacy is the love and wisdom that we are able to share during our lives. It can be read in under a minute, pinky-swear. Now check your email inbox Be sure to check your spam folder or the Promotions tab in Gmail. You can reach us at hello theartofsimple.

The Holiday Gift Guide is Here! Building the legacy your children will remember. That statement profoundly shaped my thinking about my plans and goals for the new year. Would you like to join me? Start at the end It's hard for many of us to think about our own mortality, but the truth is that if we are wondering what our lasting legacy will be, we must begin at the end of our lives.

Our Family Legacy and Its History

When I am gone from this planet and my children are reflecting and remembering me, what do I hope will be their most powerful memories of the time we had together? What do I want written about me in my obituary? What are the stories, memories, and influences I hope to leave behind for my children's children, and others for whom I hope to have influenced? Evaluate and connect Photo by Andreanna Moya Photography As we consider our hopeful legacy, we must take the next pivotal step of evaluating who we are and what are doing now that either contributes to or takes away from building that legacy.

Little things are long-lasting One of my favorite lines from the movie Up is when Russell tells Mr. Photo by Beth Rankin As I've given much thought to my own legacy in the past few weeks, I've realized I don't want my children to remember me only in silhouette - a face turned toward a screen. You May Also Like: Catherine on January 12, at Love this post on so many levels.

Their mother joined them but returned to Poland in to re-unite with her son, Schlemy, the only brother who stayed in Poland. We never heard from them during or after WWII. More than likely they perished in the holocaust. My hope is to get to Israel and solve the mystery by researching the records stored in the Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem. Don't ask me why I have not done this already. I do not have an answer. If I don't make it because I waited too long, perhaps one of you will fulfill this hope of mine.

The brothers immigrated to America in a process very familiar to other immigrant families. One brother at a time would journey across the Atlantic Ocean to America; make some money, and then send for the next relative to join him in the land of "Milk and Honey. My mother, Grandma Rosie, came from Lomza, Poland and emigrated with her sister Jenny when they were young women, having also been sent for by their brothers.

Their brother's names were Louie, Izzy, Chayme and Nathan. Nathan died at an early age. My sister Nori Nettie is named after him. Jenny and my mother were accidentally separated in their journey from Poland to Holland, where they were to depart for America. Just before their ship's departure, they were tearfully re-united. Cousin Marvin has more details on this. Grandma Rosie had a tough life. Her teen years were spent in the middle of World War I. Poland was situated between Germany and Russia, and the armies of these warring nations battled it out on Polish soil.

She told us that she was forced to dig trenches by the Germans. There wasn't much food to go around in this war ravaged country.

It was a time of great deprivation. Grandma Rosie's survival method was to dream of better times. It kept her alive.

Sample Legacy Letters

She coped with life by not sweating the details but by keeping focused on her goals for herself and later for her children. Hers was a life of concepts not details. She was a fabulous cook and baker, but never bothered with recipes. She measured things by instinct and "feel. You could not hide secrets from her because of her intuitiveness. Most of all of them first lived in the East Side, only houses away from each other.

There she met my father who also lived in an East Side tenement. Today, if you wish to understand what life was like at the time for these immigrants, I would suggest visiting two museums, the one on Ellis Island and the Tenement Museum on Hester Street. When things got better for them they moved to Brooklyn.

My parents and most of my uncles and aunts lived in Coney Island, a "better place," only blocks away from each other, unlike today's families that are geographically dispersed like ours. But one family tradition seems to be maintained by us now. All four of our children seem to yearn for a "better place. Each in their own way has fulfilled a dream of my own to live in beautiful, natural surroundings.

For the children, life in Coney Island with its beaches and amusement parks was rarely boring. If you said, I'm bored. My mother or father would say in Yiddish, "Stick your behind out the window and slap sour cream on it and yell bravo! What they were saying is life is so beautiful and interesting, so tap into your imagination and creativity and find something worthy to do. To this day I can say that I've never been bored. If worse comes to worse and there really is nothing to do and I feel lonely, then I keep up a conversation with myself. I think I converse better with myself than with others.

Another thing I learned from them is how to get along in a group. Grandma and grandpa would say, " Az tzvai zuggen shikeh, de dreetah darft gain shluffen. In other words issues in a group should be resolved democratically.

Building the legacy your children will remember

Papa set the example of being skilled, responsible and conscientious - putting forth an honest day's labor for an honest day's pay. Even though I grew up during the depression, I don't remember ever feeling hungry or deprived. He always managed to find work and buy the essentials for his family. My father, Abe, was a painter and decorator. He was also resourceful. During the depression, he had business cards and leaflets distributed, so when jobs were scarce, he would obtain odd jobs.

One was to paint the rides at Coney Island during the off-season. I remember in particular when he painted the pavilion that housed the bumper cars. I met the owner when I delivered his lunch to him. The owner gave me free passes to ride the bumper cars when the rides reopened for the summer. I was so proud of my Papa. I realized, if you are smart and industrious, there are opportunities everywhere, even in hard economic times.

Grandpa Abie was very strong for his size, only five-foot-six. Once he was painting the window frames of a. The scaffolding rope broke. The scaffold platform disappeared from under his feet, and he was holding onto the rope for dear life. He climbed up the rope until he could find an open window to swing into and saved his life. Whenever you feel ungrounded and scared, remember Grandpa Abie, and know you too have the strength to swing into a more solid footing. He was a quiet man, yet he would share advice and make up sayings.

He said if a painter entered a filthy house, he did a sloppy job. If you keep your house neat workmen will do a better job. He also told me, "Don't eat and shit in the same place. Don't work in the kitchen and don't take telephone calls in the kitchen or the dining room. My dad wasn't religious but I found out that he was passing on Jewish traditions that he learned as a boy. In a traditional Jewish dining room you use special dinnerware for the Sabbath and Passover meals.

Eating is a spiritual act, in essence eating the fruit of God. You treat the space you eat in as special.

My father's insights were profound even though he lacked formal education. Some remain as a mystery to me. He came to visit me in Caldwell, New Jersey. I was living with my aunt and uncle during the summer time because my mother and sisters had gone to Saratoga Springs and the Catskills. My two older sisters were performers. They sang and danced. We were sitting in this park in Caldwell, New Jersey, a park that is still special to me for a number of reasons.

My father made the poetic observation that nature made straight and crooked trees. What did he mean to imply? Were they both beautiful? Uncle Lennie influenced me also. Lennie, was a WWII veteran. I looked-up to him, following, in the newspapers and radio reports, his division's th Timberwolves advance across France and into German. He actually helped to liberate holocaust victims held in concentration camps, and showed us photographs of the atrocities.

When he returned from World War II in , he needed temporary work, because he was a married man and a college student. He got a job as a temporary letter carrier during the Christmas season, and he said to me, "Why don't you apply? I will never forget the lesson I learned from this. Take a chance even though the odds are not in your favor. Who knows what might happen? Two years prior, when I was years old, we moved away from Coney Island to Flatbush in middle of the school term. My parents thought "we were moving on up. I had to leave behind a lot of close friends.

Another setback was that at P. I took a deep breath, dug-in, and, in 8th Grade, a year later, my schoolmates elected me President of the Student Government. The experience taught me to make the best of a situation. I had a religiously deprived youth. Even though at a very early age my mother described her deceased father, Velvel Simcha, to me as a tsadik -- a man who spent most of his adult life studying the Torah, leaving mundane things like raising the family and providing sustenance for the family mostly to his wife.

Nevertheless, I know Velvel Simcha was respected as a person because me and three other male cousins, all first-born sons, were all named after him. My mother, who was very strong-willed on most everything else, deferred to my father on raising us void of any religious education. Although, he was a hardworking house painter, who always found work, even in the depression, he was very bitter about the American capitalist system. Karl Marx' dictum that religion was the opiate of the people pretty much described our family's belief about religion.

My father was not a card-carrying communist, but he made sure that my sisters and I grew up in an atheist environment. When I was about to turn 13, and having attended the Bar Mitzvahs of several of my friends, I discovered a yearning to be like them. With great trepidation, I announced that I wanted to be Bar Mitzvahed. My mother encouraged me, my father was silent on the issue. When I awoke that morning, to my surprise, my father was still in the house, having not left for work.

Knowing that he never missed going to work even when he was sick, I asked, "What's wrong? I'm going with you. Not only did he go with me, but he was invited to the Bimah, and much to my amazement, he read the Hebrew prayers effortlessly, almost by memory. After the services, he left for work, leaving me to ponder the effectiveness of the education he must have received that pounded the prayers so effectively into his mind that he recalled them after many decades.

Would this be a turning point in my life? Hardly, because after this, I was again adrift and even more confused. Why did my father go with me that morning? Why did he seem to abandon his strong convictions against religion? Was he uncertain and confused as I was? I was left alone to find my own way in dealing with spiritual matters and my Jewishness. A footnote to this story, is a very emotional experience that took place during one of my granddaughters bat-mitzvas. The rabbi announced that she was reading from a Torah saved from destruction by a group of Jews in Slonim.

This raised the possibility that it was the same Torah from which my Dad read as a child. As a teen-ager the dramatic formation of modern Israel aroused feelings in me. I, like millions of others, stayed glued to the radio as the delegates to the United Nations cast their vote on statehood for Israel. When the war broke out between Israel and the Arabs after independence was declared, a friend of mine, recruited me into a youth organization that began to train to fight for Israel.

We stood honor guard in our uniforms at rallies held in Town Hall and places like that. One day, two older youths came to my house to interview me, afterwards I saw them visit my neighbors. I would not be surprised if they became members of the Mossad the Israeli secret intelligence agency They must have found out something about my background that they did not like, because, my friend stopped being my friend, and I stopped getting notices of the next meeting or rally. A few days later, I read in the paper that the group was practicing landings off Manhattan Beach, and that their boat was capsized and several of the trainees drowned.

How strange that a son of a communist sympathizer had this encounter with a right ring Zionist group, called Betar, the youth organization of the Irgun. My Uncle Louie, my mother's brother and his wife Lillie owned one of the first Jewish-type delis and grocery stores in that part of New Jersey Caldwell, mentioned earlier Between ages 10 and 14, I would work at the store during the summers. I soon became a whiz at adding up cost of items on a paper bag.

I also learned to cut butter from the big barrel. I took a knife and estimated a pound and it had to be pretty accurate because a customer who ordered a pound really wanted a pound. My Uncle Louie also thought I should get some fresh air and he showed me the way to the Caldwell Park where they had an outdoor arts and crafts program.

On the park's picnic tables, I built model airplanes. That's the beginning of my love for model airplanes. The local boys at the park called me "New Yorker" instead of my name. I believe the nickname was a form of anti-Semitism because, in those days, Jews were not very well known in that part of New Jersey. One day I said, "Why won't you call me by my name, Willie?

Why do you call me New Yorker? Do something about it. They challenged me to go with them up a hill away from supervision. It soon became apparent that we were going to resolve the name-calling controversy with a fight. I was scared because I never had a real fistfight in my life. He threw the first punch and I flayed at him.

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