I Have A Legacy?

From Grandma’s Country Kitchen — Play... Feeling Lost

I Have A Legacy?

Do I have a legacy? What? Me? I haven’t done anything to make me famous. I haven’t done anything to make my name stand out in brilliant bright lights. I haven’t done anything where when people say my name they smile or frown or curse me out. Or have I?

I often wonder if I have left a “mark” on the world. Or after I have passed, will I be remembered?

I have five biological children and one adopted daughter. My world revolves around them. It always has and always will.

Years ago, when I lived in Augusta, the mail lady used to say that I looked like a mother duck with all my little ones trailing behind me. Does that mean I had my ducks in a row? Haha!

Below is something I found on someone else’s blog. I read it and this is exactly how I feel. I write to be remembered. I want my children and grandchildren to know what and how I felt. I have kept a diary/journal for many years. My kids won’t find them until after I am gone. After reading them, they will no doubt think I was crazy. Perhaps I am crazy. Who knows? Who cares? I don’t. Life is short and I intend to enjoy it to the fullest.

“I write to find strength.

I write to become the person that hides inside me.

I write to light the way through the darkness for others.

I write to be seen and heard.

I write to be near those I love.

I write by accident, promptings, purposefully and anywhere there is paper.

I write because my heart speaks a different language that someone needs to hear.

I write past the embarrassment of exposure.

I write because hypocrisy doesn’t need answers, rather it needs questions to heal.

I write myself out of nightmares.

I write because I am nostalgic, romantic and demand happy endings.

I write to remember.

I write knowing conversations don’t always take place.

I write because speaking can’t be reread.

I write to sooth a mind that races.

I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in the sand.

I write because my emotions belong to the moon; high tide, low tide.

I write knowing I will fall on my words, but no one will say it was for very long.

I write because I want to paint the world the way I see love should be.

I write to provide a legacy.

I write to make sense out of senselessness.

I write knowing I will be killed by my own words, stabbed by critics, crucified by both misunderstanding and understanding.

I write for the haters, the lovers, the lonely, the brokenhearted and the dreamers.

I write because one day someone will tell me that my emotions were not a waste of time.

I write because one day I will be gone, but what I believed and felt will live on.”