Remember me…

Sometimes I wonder if my existence has made a difference to anyone else. Although I know intellectually that my life has made some impact on the lives of my friends, at least on a small scale, I wonder just how memorable I am. I wonder if my being here matters to anyone.

Since I don’t have children, the obvious source of my “living on” through them doesn’t exist. Instead, I have to be memorable in order to be remembered. I have to make a difference in the life of someone, somehow, if my presence on this earth is to be anything more than a tiny blip in the continuum.

I haven’t done anything spectacular in my life so far – I’ve tried (at least as an adult) to be a decent and kind person, although I certainly haven’t gone out of my way to make any huge contribution to society or work for some grand cause. Mostly, I just keep to myself in my little house, in my little neighborhood. I try not to make enemies, and hope that trouble stays far away from my door. 

I realize that in the grand scheme of things, and among the billions of people on the planet, I’m just a tiny speck of energy that flickers during the brief span of my lifetime, and then is gone from here. I have no aspirations of being “great” or “famous” in this lifetime – but I’m selfish enough to want to be remembered by someone.

It used to make me sad to think that I might be forgotten, and I’ve been known to actually ask people to remember me. I’ve come to the place now where I don’t feel that way anymore. A handful of my friends have told me in recent years that I have indeed made a positive impact on their lives, and that’s a great comfort. And they made those remarks without me asking them, which makes their comments infinitely more meaningful.

So maybe I have made a difference after all, just by virtue of my existence. Even though I haven’t sacrificed for some great cause, I did contribute my skills to a non-profit organization I believe in. Even though I was thousands of miles away, I gave encouragement and advice to a young man who is like my son. Even though I couldn’t give money to a friend who desperately needed it, I did make sure he had an occasional home-cooked meal and a place to do his laundry. Even though I didn’t lessen the workload of another friend, I did listen and let her know I loved her when she was going through rough times.

I recently watched an episode of Private Practice, in which one of the characters was comforting a dying friend. The man wondered if it had really mattered that he was here, or if his passing would mean that he wouldn’t be remembered. His friend repeatedly assured him as he died, saying with conviction, “You were here. You were here. You were here…”

So maybe the small things I’ve contributed do count for something. If I can lighten someone’s burden or lift their spirits or so some small thing to assist someone who’s doing a bigger thing, then maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe I was here, after all…

Tags: navel-gazing, relationships