Say My Name and Don’t Forget That I Love You

“They say people die twice, once when their physical body gives up on them and again when someone on earth says their name for the last time. The space between these two deaths is what people call a legacy.”  This quote, and versions of it, are attributed to the ancient Egyptians, Hemingway, and Banksy.

Ten years ago, my mom asked me to adopt my great-aunt’s Thanksgiving cactus. The request was, “this cactus was Aunt Viola’s and it is almost 100 years old. I am killing it. Maybe you can take it and keep it alive?”  Referring to the twig as a cactus at this point was generous. The cactus consisted of one sprig of greenery that was trying to survive, despite my mom’s non-intentional plant murder techniques. Fast forward to 2024, and cactus has survived. It blooms at Thanksgiving and Easter, and I feel relieved having helped to add another year to Aunt Vi’s plant. Up until my mom passed away in 2019 and my Aunt Linda in 2023, I would send them pictures of the cactus in bloom, and we would all text back and forth expressing our happiness that Aunt Vi’s cactus was still among the living. I have the cactus at my office where it can happily droop in the sunlight and wait for its weekly watering that comes from my coffee mug on Fridays. The cactus is over 100 years old now and somehow, I have become its last blood link to its original owner. I will do my best to keep it alive and I am assuming that one day I will give it to one of my sons with similar instructions on its care that were handed down to me by my mom.

The main reason I keep the cactus alive is because my mom asked me to take care of it and I love her and would do anything for her. I also have a twinge of guilt at the thought of tossing Aunt Vi’s cactus into the dumpster. Aunt Vi was married but never had children, and the family that knew her or even remembered her are quickly disappearing. I do not know if I would ever think of Aunt Vi if it was not for her cactus sitting in my workspace every day.

The other day, my friend shared a reel with me that pointed out that after you pass, life moves on without you. Your home becomes occupied by other people, your belongings are disposed of, and all the time and energy that you put into acquiring things and worrying about the future are all for nothing. You will be forgotten within a generation or two. All we really have is the present because we have zero control over the future.

Just like Aunt Vi and those before her, I cannot outrun the future. However, I am still going to protect Aunt Vi’s cactus. Her legacy is not a cactus, it is that she had family that loved and respected her. She was my grandma’s little sister, and my dad and Aunt Linda loved her. The next generation that becomes the cactus keeper will not know, nor have ever met Aunt Vi, but they will be asked to keep her plant alive, and they will do it because they love me.