I receive quite a few emails from people and companies offering different ways to help my clients preserve memories and create meaningful legacies for the people they love. Some are elaborate, involving professionally produced videos or beautifully bound books. Others are wonderfully simple.
This week, one in particular caught my attention. A company takes old, handwritten family recipe cards and turns them into a recipe book. I immediately thought of the handwritten recipes I have from my Nana, and how much I treasure them.
My family has always had a weakness for baked goods, and my Nana was a wonderful baker. At one family reunion, after indulging in her famous seven-layer bars, my uncle declared that if he could choose how to leave this world, it would be by eating far too many of those bars. From that day forward, we've affectionately called them Kevorkian bars.
It's a ridiculous family story, and one that still makes me smile. But that's what I love about those old recipe cards. They're so much more than instructions for making something delicious. They're a connection to my Nana, to family gatherings, to laughter around a table, and to memories that have become part of our family's story.
It got me thinking about the things we leave behind and what makes them meaningful.
In my work with clients, I often encourage people to think beyond the practical aspects of planning. Of course, the documents, financial arrangements, and other details matter. But I also ask them to consider what they might want to pass along to the people they love.
Maybe it's a piece of jewelry that's been in the family for generations, or a golf ball from a memorable hole-in-one. The object itself might not have much monetary value, but the story behind it can make it priceless. Imagine receiving that golf ball along with a handwritten note explaining the day, the excitement, and why someone wanted you to have it.
And we have so many ways to preserve those stories. We can write letters, record voice memos, make videos, or simply take a few minutes to explain why something matters to us. It doesn't have to be polished or professionally produced. In fact, I suspect the imperfections are often part of what makes these things so special.
I think we sometimes imagine legacy as something we need to create toward the end of our lives. But why wait? We can do these things today, while the stories are fresh and we have the opportunity to share them.
I don't know whether my Nana ever imagined that her handwritten recipe cards would become something I treasure so deeply. I suspect she was simply writing down the ingredients for something she knew her family would enjoy.
But years later, those cards still bring her into my kitchen and remind me of the people, laughter, and love that surrounded her.
And that, to me, is a pretty wonderful legacy.
