Category: Family

Reading time: 4 mins

The dusty, decrepit past slides out of view as a brighter, fresher, more inviting future beckons you over the horizon. So is the story the New Year likes to tell, a narrative that talks of new beginnings, better versions of yourself,

I know, it’s just the earth moving around the sun, but that doesn’t stop the long held notion of a year coming to an end, and a new one stretching out in front of us. Old versus new, with all the implications that those words hold.

It’s safe to say it hasn’t been the best year, especially as my brain insists on (rightfully) pulling the last few months of 2024 into the same period of time.

A recap then, before I move onto happier thoughts; October 2024 we had to put our girl dog down, November 2024 my Mum died unexpectedly, her funeral that December put a darker shade on Christmas last year (other events too but that was the main one), in February of this year my younger sister died, and in June my best friend’s husband died after a long battle with cancer.

Of course there were highlights and wonderful memories as well but it was hard to shake my grief and it felt like a constant presence hovering behind me for most of the year, thankfully it didn’t spoil things but did at times leave a bittersweet taste; I sat alone on the sand dunes on Mull, watching yet another stunning sunset develop, realising I wouldn’t be able to share the beauty with my sister, or my Mum and Dad.

I have cried often this past year. Sometimes unexpectedly, sometimes silently, sometimes with that raw, painful, intensity that I haven’t experienced at any other time. I know grief isn’t time bound, but it does ease as time passes.

Looking back, what struck me most was the love and support I’ve had from so many people. I am not one who goes looking for it but having my closest friends reaching out to me, checking in on me and Becca, made me realise how lucky I am. I knew all this of course, but it’s easy to take these things for granted, swept up in the week to week activities and catchups and updates, where it’s easier to chat about everyday things than delve into darker emotional times.

They brought light into my life when I needed it most, laughter when required, and a quiet acceptance of how I was – whilst I don’t think my attitude and nature was all that different, I’m sure the changes in me were evident to those who know me well – I would not have gotten through this past year without them, without Becca, without Jack.

And if ever there was bright shining star to keep me focussed on the future and all the joy, love, and happiness it will bring, it’s my wonderful wife and beautiful son.

I was out a gig recently, my first in a year, and I was discussing previous gig that my friend Andi and I had attended together, so many great nights and, for a while, I was almost at a gig (or more) every month. Naturally that has tapered off since the birth of my son, as I want to be present for him and Becca, I want to be a good husband, a loving father, and it struck me last night how much I missed them, missed the bedtime routine with Jack, missed just hanging out with them.

They both make me happy, content, and I feel so much love for them that it’s all I really need. I am not going to predict if next year will be good or bad, but I am looking forward to another year of making memories for Jack, of watching him flourish and grow, and of supporting Becca as she’s start another journey herself into a new career.

I am very lucky, very privileged to be able to look forward to 2026 with one key thing in my mind.

Hope.

 

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It can be hard at this time of year (I know I’ve a mix of excitement and dread building as we barrel towards Christmas) so if anyone here needs an ear, a moan, a distraction, please reach out. If not to me, there are charities who will support you.

📞 24/7 / Immediate Support

* Samaritans – emotional support any time you need to talk
📍 116 123 (freephone, 24/7/365)
Email: jo@samaritans.org
(Also a Welsh Language line: 0808 164 0123, 7 pm–11 pm)
* SHOUT – 24/7 crisis text support (if you prefer texting)
📍 Text “SHOUT” to 85258 for free, confidential text support.

📞 Charity Phone Lines (Support, Listening & Signposting)

* Mind – national mental health charity offering support, information & signposting
📍 0300 102 1234 (support line, Mon–Fri, 9 am–6 pm)
* SANEline – emotional support and information
📍 0300 304 7000 (daily, usually late afternoon–evening)
* CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably) – support for anyone feeling down or suicidal
📍 0800 58 58 58 (daily, 5 pm–midnight) including webchat support.

🧑‍🎓 Support for Young People

* The Mix – mental health support for under 25s
📍 0808 808 4994 (freeline; open daily with varied hours)
Text support via the same Shout/85258 mechanism tailored for youth.
* Childline – for anyone under 19
📍 0800 1111 (free, 24/7) with online chat counsellors.
* Papyrus (HOPElineUK) – suicide prevention for young people and those worried about them
📍 0800 068 4141 (daily, 9 am–midnight)

📌 Additional Useful Support Lines

* Switchboard LGBT+ Support – listening and information
📍 0800 0119 100 (call/text/email)

Reading time: 6 mins

What am I leaving behind?

Looking back over the past year, the most tiring part, physically and emotionally, was clearing out my Mum’s flat. Whilst Mum and Dad had done a LOT of clearing out before they downsized, it doesn’t take long to build up more stuff, more detritus. Even after my Dad passed and Mum spent months slowly working her way through his office and belongings, there was still a mountain of belongings to sort through, to donate, to recycle, to keep, to trash.

It was hard work, sorting through it all, making decisions of what to keep – most of which boiled down to diaries, letters and photos – and all the time wondering how this diminishing pile of collected items could possibly have defined their lives. So many memories boiled down to so few things.

Of course, it didn’t, the items we buy and own don’t actually hold that power precisely because they are transient, yet it made me think about the eulogies I wrote for both my parents, the lives they led, the ideals and morals they upheld, the ethics they felt bound by, and I can see for both of them one thing that was already dawning on me.

I am their legacy. My son is their legacy. My nieces are their legacy.

It’s a daunting thought.

What is a legacy anyway?

OK, let’s bust out a definition:

“A legacy is a lasting gift passed from one person or generation to another, encompassing not just material possessions but also the experiences, achievements, and values that define a person’s life. It reflects the impact an individual has had on others and the world around them, including their actions, beliefs, and contributions.”

In my younger years I heard talk of legacy and left it aside, presuming it was only for the people in the world who were making a difference, who could move mountains if they wished, they leaders of my time be they local and immediate, or world renowned and distant. The latter is where most of us spend our time looking of course; I can remember the hope that filled the world when Obama was elected (and the despair that we are all feeling at the current incumbent of that office).

We look to sporting heroes, movie stars, pop sensations and place them on a pedestal, assuring their legacies through records, achievements, and popularity.

But how do we judge those closer to home, how do we judge ourselves?

What is my legacy, is it really my son? Is it really that simple.

And obviously when I say simple, I mean mind-boggling, terrifyingly, thrillingly, complex.

Physical legacy

Thinking back on the plethora of my parents stuff I had to sort through, I am keen to keep my meaningful belongings to a minimum and if at all possible offer some signposts on things that may/could/should be taken forward.

There are some physical items that hold meaning for me, I have kept the large wooden barometer that used to hang in my Grandparents house in Rutherglen; a large 3 story home with a long entrance hall, that dog-legged round the foot of the staircase. It used to hang near the front door, next to the coats tand, itself an antique with a large warped mirror and intricate carvings atop multiple large folding hooks for coats and hats, and upon leaving the house you’d stop here and tap the barometer to ensure you knew which way the weather was heading. I was in and out of that house every weekend (and more) for 18 years, and it’s one of the most vivid memories I have, one that floods my senses whenever I see the barometer now (currently in a cupboard, sadly).

But this item, which holds so many rich memories for me, will likely mean nothing to my son. We don’t have it hanging near the front door (and in any case we use the back door almost exclusively). Should we hang it somewhere? Would that allow him to attach his own memories and add to the legacy the barometer already holds? Is that how it works, with memories being piled up on memories to give an enhanced level of gravitas to a physical object?

Is that really how a legacy can be created and maintained?

Values legacy

When my Dad passed, as I mentioned in his eulogy, the overarching sentiment was that he was a good man. It gave me great solace at the time and, even without the usual lens afforded to such comments (does anyone really speak ill of the recently dead?), I knew it to be true.

Yet I now find myself wondering how that came to be? A life lived with good humour, with generosity and kindness, those things I can see and, if I’m honest, take some comfort from as I hope that I am living my life in a similar manner, although perhaps without the outreach my Dad had as a teacher, a performer, as well as his involvement in the local Rotary and Burns Clubs. He was known to many and all held him in the same regard. If that isn’t a legacy, what is?

My Mum was similarly viewed and for similar reasons. Known to many as a teacher, her involvement in the local Inner Wheel gave her a wonderful outlet for her natural tendencies to organise and put others first. Mum was all about the small things, a wee minding (a small gift), a thank you note posted; she kept a stock of cards covering all the major life occasions in a drawer ‘just in case’.

I come from good stock, of that I am both sure and very aware of, my upbringing was a good one full of many privileges. That in itself should be apparent because, let’s be honest, it’s really only those with a comfortable life without many challenges, whose days are easy and for whom achievements are that little closer than others – I don’t have to deal with racism or sexism, my gender isn’t questioned, and I am able bodied – that have lots of energy and time to consider what impression we are leaving behind and how, indeed should it even be considered, my legacy will be noted.

And yet some people, regardless of privilege or status, in times regardless of the lack of either, will forge a legacy without even considering it, purely through their determination alone.

I have no grand hopes or thoughts in this regard, I am not exceptional in any way, I will not be remembered in history books. It is only the smallest percentage of any population who are remembered in this way and fewer still who transcend the idea of legacy altogether and become legend. I have written on this before, I am, and am happy to remain, master of nothing but knowledgeable of much.

That said, there is the small matter of honour and ego. If my son is my legacy – and therefore my grandparents legacy, and their parents before and so on down through the lineage – am I doing a good enough job in giving him the skills, tools, and emotional capability to have a chance of understanding his own place in the world whilst flourishing within it? Is it even fair to consider the idea of the passing of my legacy to him? I know the slow rise of the burden that the idea of legacy can hold will start to approach him as he grows older, just as it seems to be doing with me, so who am I to add to it?

Digital Legacy

I’ve had this blog for a long long time. It’s been through three changes of platform – hand crafted HTML to Blogger to WordPress – some changes of focus, including splitting out my professional (technical communications) posts, and the fiction posts, into their own blogs with their own domains (long since lapsed and the content merged back into this blog), and so many layout and template changes I’ve lost count.

My approach to blogging has changed throughout the years as well; from the early, short sharp silly/pointless posts – the joy of Blogger was the immediacy – through to my current more focussed posts. I’ve hosted blog meets in London and Edinburgh, been in newspaper articles, have a quote in the Essential Blogging book by Cory Doctorow, and on and on it goes. I still have the first domain name I used for my blog – www.snowgoon.co.uk – too. If my blog isn’t part of my legacy, what is?

And then there is the tens of thousands of digital artefacts to consider; photos, documents, diary entries, notes, and emails. What do they say about me as a collective? What do they contribute to how I am viewed when I’m no longer here? I should curate, delete and get prepared as, of all the items of my legacy, these seem the most achievable to tackle, or perhaps just the most under my immediate control.

What is my legacy?

I’m not sure. I’m not sure how much of my parent’s legacy I actually carry, if any at all. Perhaps instead it is just another thing, an item on the pile, that needs to be dealt with somehow. Maybe in time it will fade into the trash heap of life, or maybe it will be carried with me, captured in some physical item or another.

Regardless, there is the small, and shrinking, matter of my own immediate legacy. What am I leaving behind? What will people speak of when I am turned to ash?

And here I will stop for fear of starting to try and write my own eulogy and that is a step too far. Suffice to say that I know I will leave behind far too much lego, an old barometer, and hopefully a view of someone who was kind and thoughtful to all despite his flaws.