How do you want to be remembered? 

Mankind has a chronic obsession with being remembered. We have historically always wanted to change the world, save lives, solve world hunger, secure peace amongst countries and achieve many other vague and greatly cliché goals before we pass on to ensure that our names linger in the mouths of younger generations for years to come. Perhaps the most painful concept to accept is that we will all die at some point, and all we will have to keep our memory alive afterward is the reminders of us we leave behind. It is said that a person dies twice: Once when their body fails and once when their friends’ do. Regardless of how hard we try to live forever through memories, our names will no longer remain immortal on the tongues of others and we will all die for a second time as generations continue. 

We all believe we are alive for a reason. Can we be, then, dead for a reason? If this is the case, I hope my reason for expiration is to create small pleasantries in the lives of others long after I am gone. I have plenty of achievements so far in my lifetime that I am proud to display, but those will sooner or later be forgotten and any position I hold will be given to a newer and younger person. My final request of anyone who is close to me is to use up every last bit of me to brighten someone’s day. I have a collection of throw blankets – take them to a few women’s shelters. Drop the pennies from my change jar in parks with fountains so little ones with big dreams can run to make wishes in the water. Throw my favorite sweater over your shoulder and leave it in an airport so it can go home with the next raider of the Lost and Found. Write my name on its tag. I don’t want credit, that isn’t the reason. What I want is for that person to do their laundry and pick up a sweater they don’t recall buying, check the tag, and remember that it’s the one some woman left lying around while waiting for her flight. 

I hope there are no flowers on my grave. I won’t be around to see them, so what’s the point? Rather, buy some flowers for me and take them to a high school prom. Give them to the young boy checking his watch, nervously waiting for his date to arrive, or the awkward girl watching her classmates from the sidelines because she was never considered by a boy to be asked to dance. Give them in my name, claim it as your own when they ask who to thank. After that, of course, take care of my books. They each have my name stamped inside the covers. Drop them off in Little Libraries everywhere so they can go home with new people. One day someone will tell a friend the name of their favorite author and it will be because of a book of mine. Let me live on in every tiny corner of the world that I did not get to touch during my lifetime.

I have no need to be frequently remembered. No one needs to speak of me every weekend around the dinner table to keep me alive or celebrate my birthday every year until my memory eventually dissipates and is forgotten. Rather, let me live quietly in the lives of everyone. Let me be remembered by simply being around long after I’m gone, creating sweet moments in the lives of people who have never seen the face to which my name was attached. In my mind, this is more important and realistic than any legacy I could leave behind for academics, talents, or world-changing influences. I much prefer a quiet, kind life in which I can live without worrying about being remembered as opposed to one of glamour and iconic experiences to try to prove that I am worth a memory. I want to be remembered for being everywhere and in everything so I can live on far longer than my time allowed on this earth.