What my dad’s patents taught me about what we leave behind
“Your dad had patents.”
The afternoon after my dad died, my mom shared this tidbit as if she said ‘we’re having pasta for dinner.’ I had no idea. The man I’d known for nearly 40 years, who had tucked me in as a child, taught me how to do a hook layup in middle-school basketball, helped me with my math homework in high school, and faithfully attended every one of my school assemblies, parades, or sports games had never told me this about himself.
Even when I saw my dad’s health was failing and understood his time was finite, I didn’t ask him questions about his larger life. And then his stories, wisdom, and advice all died with him. What else did I miss?
I discovered I could grieve a person while simultaneously realizing there was so much more about him I didn’t know. Both could be true. Grief opened me in a way that ordinary life never had. I was finally hungry to hear about his accomplishments, struggles, and details of his life, all of it… but he was gone.
Why do we save our favorite memories for the eulogy, or our best words for the obituary? What if instead we prioritize and articulate questions that help us understand someone’s values, memories, hardships and triumphs that make up who they fully are? Why do we wait until they can no longer answer?
Often we assume these conversations can happen later. Yet day-to-day hustle can distract and delay quality connections, and talking about death, dying, and grieving can be scary, or at best uncomfortable, as our world has stigmatized these topics. And if we are brave enough to have the conversation, it can feel overwhelming and expansive, especially if we don’t have a container for it.
To me, my dad was a high-school-educated carpenter turned engineer. He was also the person who picked me up from practice after school and sometimes grounded me when I disobeyed. As I age, I see more clearly the layered and complex details of his life. He overcame struggles, flexed his creativity, reimagined his career and invented actual products and machinery that people use to this day.
I used to associate the word ‘legacy’ with someone who donates a lot of money and receives their name on a hospital wing or educational scholarship. But in thinking about my dad, I’ve realized we all have legacies. A legacy is a gift of love that can take many forms: wisdom, bravery, service, creativity, sacrifice, hope, permission, and more. It may also be something physical like a public art installation, a book of stories or family recipes, a collection of backpacks full of school supplies, a community garden, or a letter explaining the gift of a sentimental item.
I almost missed an important gift from my dad, proof that someone like him, someone like me, could create and invent something that positively impacts the life of others. His legacy is something I carry with me.
It’s been nearly 10 years since my dad died and I’m still piecing together stories like this. I wonder what he would’ve wanted to tell me in his own words, rather than me hearing it secondhand. I can’t go back and ask him and I recognize how important these kinds of conversations are in our lives.
To support this type of connection, I’ve created The Legacy Party, an intimate, purposeful experience where you’re invited to explore what you want your legacy to be and the first steps to creating it. It’s a celebration, a creative retreat, and a permission slip. This focused workshop can be completed by yourself or with friends and family, and can be customized to fit your groups’ needs. It’s offered both in-person or remotely.
My hope is the Legacy Party experience opens new ideas and conversations in your life. This is your invitation to build a legacy that is genuinely yours through intention.
Everyone leaves a legacy… what do you want yours to be?
Beth Lingard is a Death Doula and Product Strategist who spent years running innovation workshops and design sprints, helping companies turn what people truly need into products they love. The Legacy Party applies those same tools to the most personal question of all: what do you want your life to mean?
Interested in hosting a Legacy Party? Schedule 30 minutes with me or visit the Legacy Party page to learn more.
A heartfelt thank you to Christy Dunwoodie, whose thoughtful read helped this piece find its shape.