I do not say this lightly. Life has been shit lately. In June, my boss passed away and I was one of two who found her at home. I don’t know what the cause was. It was not expected. She was not old or sick.
Even though it’s wreaked havoc on my well-being, I do not regret being there. But I truly, vehemently wish no one ever has to go through that experience.
I’ve been wrestling with God since then because this was the first safe work environment I’ve had in years. For it to be taken away and rocked so horrendously is something I cannot understand. What was the point of providing that safe space, the wonderful person Athena was, to then rip all of that away?
I know I’ve written a book on suffering, but this is shaking my understanding of goodness and suffering even further. People say and do really dumb things when they do not comprehend the hell you’ve experienced.
I know I am also guilty of this. No one can live the life you have and come away with the same interpretations, experiences, feelings and relationships that you have. You and I are created so entirely uniquely. It’s rude to assume any generalized statement can adequately convey any meaning at all. And I am so sorry for any painful words I’ve shared in your experience of going through something tragic.
This whole experience has re-framed my thoughts and code for life. Death is abhorrent and horrible. These days, I find it’s not something to be celebrated, laughed at, made light of, or dismissed.
I am working on adjusting my former beliefs that sickness and death were measures in how one should be honoured. In many traditions, people only become revered after death. I have been in conversations where awe of how one has soldiered on through tragedy, sickness and loss is shared. I think we need to stop doing that. People should not be celebrated only when they’re sick or gone. What we need to do, what I need to do, is honour people today, while they’re alive and present - regardless of well-being status. We are not background noise to each other’s main character stories. We are not assigned value like an antique or heirloom after age and dust settles. We are innately valuable today.
I think value and legacy are equally mistreated concepts. At a support group I’m part of for women who’ve experienced pregnancy loss and infertility, the topic of legacy came up and understandably the meaning of legacy has hurt attached to it. So often we attribute legacy and inheritance to children, which I’ve come to understand sells ‘legacy’ short.
Legacy is passing on the dreams and hopes you have for others. Legacy is stepping into another’s work when they are no longer able to. Legacy isn’t just for the next generation or for your children. Legacy is sharing that my boss was someone who approached each person and conversation by creating space for you to show up as you are, and was instilled in my team’s values.
Memory is sharing that Athena had beliefs and convictions that she did not sway from, but she did not impose herself or approach people with judgement. She worked hard to make me feel welcome and protected. She loved moose, rose gold and the colour pink. She enjoyed shopping and decorating her spaces with a beautiful, sophisticated style that hinted at cozy whimsy. She was co-chair for a local organization helping the vulnerable and had a side business as a lash esthetician. She was warm, wise, smart, emotionally intelligent, witty and fun.
Legacy is sharing Athena loved people deeply, desiring connections to build organizations, teams and individuals up. And for me, I want to approach my work environments honouring her efforts by continuing the spirit of connectivity she fostered and the care for people she envisioned.
Similar to a person’s value not being reached at a certain stage or time-frame, legacy doesn’t need to be treated as a ‘tomorrow project’. The compassion and labour she exuded did not begin after Athea’s passing. I, along with my team, worked to bring Athena’s vision to life while she was present and working alongside us.
If I can have any say in my legacy and value, I wish to pass along this dream: I want to see the unseen, hear the quiet and speak up for those who are not able to. I want everyone to have space in the room and a seat at the table. I want no one to ever feel like an inconvenience or burden or project or a tool to be used. And when life knocks us down, to be able to ask for help, then do something small: put one sock on at a time, and go again.
I want you to know you are loved, just like I am loved and lovable. That, I hope, will be our legacy.
