Before I Go

I came across an interesting question this evening: What do I want to do before I die? That one alone is enough to stir the heart, but I’d like to add a second: What kind of legacy do I want to leave behind?
Both questions linger. They make you pause — not in fear of the end, but in curiosity about the middle. About the life between the lines.
Before I go, I want to keep learning — not just from books, but from people, from mistakes, from grace. I want to travel some, not to see things but to understand them — to sit at tables with strangers who become friends, to see the familiar through fresh eyes.
I want to keep telling stories. The kind that make people laugh, think, or maybe tear up just a little. Stories that remind us of our shared humanity, our need for mercy, and the humor that keeps us sane.
And most of all, I want those I love to know they were loved — not just through words, but through patience, presence, and faithfulness.
As for legacy… I hope mine is simple. I want to be remembered as a good husband, a good brother to both my old and new siblings, a beloved grandparent and great-grandparent if I’m blessed with time enough. A dedicated educator. A compassionate school administrator. A man who tried to live servant leadership — who believed that putting others first wasn’t weakness, but strength.
If there’s a legacy worth leaving, it’s not in a building or a plaque. It’s in the laughter echoing through a school hallway. It’s in the student who finally believes in themselves because someone once said, “I see something in you.” It’s in the colleagues who learned that kindness and firmness can coexist.
I hope to be remembered as someone who showed up — for his family, his students, his parish, and his calling. A man who led not by being in charge, but by taking care.
In the end, legacy isn’t a grand gesture. It’s a thousand small ones.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s found in the quiet hope that when others tell their stories… my name comes up with a smile.
Author’s Note: If I can manage that — if someone remembers me as a man who tried to leave things a little better than he found them — well, that sounds like a good way to go.