My dear friend over at this place has been talking about legacies. In all honesty, I left behind the idea that Natan needed a legacy years (!) ago. I have found given my disappointments in life that I need to accept my insignificance to function. I know that is contrary to so much of what we say so often, but it works. I grew up an overachiever, thinking I could and would, save the world. I had determined, in this modern-day culture of fame worship, that when Emerson was talking about “Representative Men,” he was talking about me.
Forget that. I am one little soul, and Natan was one littler one. He died before he had the chance to live, and I have no idea where he went from there, other than to the ground. He matters certainly, but it’s beyond me to determine how and why. I’m done trying, because that, I think, would leave me stagnant. I won’t ever be satisfied; I can’t make a grand enough legacy for my dead son to satisfy me. That doesn’t mean I don’t think of him, that his death hasn’t left me more humble and compassionate, that I won’t contribute to causes.
His death has left me discontent, but I’m moving forward. I miss him, but not all the time. I’m human and most of the time I’m thinking about that–working, sleeping, eating, playing, writing, talking, drinking coffee, and so on. It’s okay, it really is.