The Legacy Is Already Being Written

Life has a funny way of making us think about the future.

Sometimes it's seeing other people with children, whether we have children ourselves or not. Sometimes it's milestone birthdays, retirement parties, graduations, or celebrations that cause us to pause and reflect on where we are and what lies ahead.

Recently, for me, it was my grandma's funeral.

We stood together on a cool spring morning beneath a blue canopy. My grandma's gray casket rested nearby, waiting to be lowered into the ground after the service.

My mother sat with her siblings in folding chairs covered in blue velvet. The rest of us stood behind them. Some family members sobbed openly. Others quietly wiped away tears. I found myself somewhere in between, shedding a few tears during a beautiful service that lasted only ten or fifteen minutes.

Yet somehow, within those few minutes, the officiant perfectly captured the spirit of my grandma's life.

One of the things she spoke about was my grandma's legacy.

She described the traditions Grandma passed down to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren: family meals every other Sunday, holiday gatherings, Kool-Aid served in Looney Tunes glasses, homemade zucchini bread, gardening (a talent I definitely did not inherit), and taking time to appreciate a beautiful sunset.

I vividly remember sitting on her front porch, watching the sky turn brilliant shades of orange and purple as the sun disappeared below the horizon.

I remember the meals she lovingly prepared and the way every holiday at her house felt special.

Just recently, I told my husband that this is the first year in my thirty-eight years of life that going to Grandma's house is no longer an option. The possibility was always there before.

Now it isn't.

As I worked through the grief of losing her, I found myself asking a question I hadn't considered very deeply before:

What will my legacy be?

I don't have children, and I never will.

For a moment, that thought felt heavy.

Then something beautiful happened.

I realized I had the opportunity to get creative.

The truth is, my legacy is already being built through the lives I touch every day.

My legacy will live on through the animals I've loved and saved. I've opened my heart to animals that others may have overlooked—the seniors, the special-needs pets, the rescues, and the fosters. Through my pet-sitting business, Bella's Buddies, my rescue work, and simple acts of care, many animals have experienced safety, comfort, love, and dignity. Some of them may have only known kindness because someone chose to give it to them.

My legacy will live on through the students I've taught. As a special education teacher, I've spent years helping children learn, grow, and believe in themselves. Most of them won't remember every lesson I taught, but many will remember how I made them feel—seen, capable, and valued. The impact of a teacher often shows up years later in ways they never get to witness.

My legacy will live on through the compassion I've offered. I often talk about my pets, not as possessions, but as family. Through grief, caregiving, advocacy, and everyday acts of kindness, I've tried to show what it looks like to love deeply, even when loving comes with the risk of loss.

My legacy will live on through the community I've built. Whether through my podcast, social media, pet-sitting business, wedding officiating, or simply encouraging someone who needed it, I've tried to create spaces where people feel welcome, supported, and understood. That's a legacy of connection.

And my legacy will live on through the story I'm still living.

I've walked through infertility, loss, anxiety, burnout, grief, and disappointment. Yet I continue to show up. I continue to care. I continue to look for joy.

The title of my podcast, Still Becoming, captures something important: my legacy isn't a finished monument. It's an unfolding story. It's being written every day through the choices I make, the people I love, and the way I move through the world.

If someone were speaking about me someday, I hope they might say something like this:

"Ricki loved fiercely. She cared for animals that needed a chance, students who needed someone to believe in them, and people who needed kindness. She made the world gentler than she found it."

I think all of us wonder, at some point, what the future holds and what kind of legacy we'll leave behind.

But maybe legacy isn't something we create at the end of our lives.

Maybe it's something we're building every day.

And if you're worried that your life doesn't matter because you don't have children, a large platform, or some grand accomplishment to your name, I want you to know something:

There is a very good chance that your legacy is already being written.

It's in the people you've encouraged.

The lives you've touched.

The kindness you've shown.

The love you've given.

Long before anyone ever speaks about your legacy, you're already living it.