period of life. Your hard-won wisdom and experience will be at hand for family members you will never meet, and the time you spend recording your memories and reflections will be transformed into an unforgettable link to your family and its future generations.
4. Aren’t there some things better left unsaid? There may be parts of your story you are not ready or willing to tell. Perhaps you fear you might hurt someone by revealing certain information. Only you can decide this. Revealing something hidden, in the still-private process of writing your story, may show you that the difficulty was smaller than you had imagined, may even bring a resolution you hadn’t thought possible.
Perhaps you gave someone a promise of secrecy. Quite likely you’ll find it important to continue to honor that trust. But in some instances there might be other factors to consider: you agreed to secrecy because you felt you had no choice; you were too young to understand what was being asked of you; times have changed, and what once we felt it was necessary to hide, we may now be more willing to share. If you feel the revelation of something you’ve kept secret could be instructive to someone who faces a similar situation, you may choose to talk about this secret from the perspective of what you have learned by looking back, telling the circumstances without identifying specific people.
In telling something you have not revealed before, you may find that your revelation can bring understanding to others confused or troubled by past behaviors or events. With the advantage of the wisdom that comes with the passage of time, it is also possible that in recalling something painful you will see things in a new light, letting go of much of the pain. Miraculously, you may ease into the relief of forgiveness.
So while this writing will be helpful to others it also often helps us to make sense of and peace with our own lives. Be reassured that when you are reviewing the times that were difficult or painful, the choice is always yours to make when you consider the question—“Will sharing this part of my story help more than hinder, and heal more than hurt?”
Now put your obstacles behind you, and let’s get started!
The Practice of Writing
Choosing a writing book. I want your finished Legacy to have your imprint from cover to cover. That’s why this is not a workbook, but is designed to be used with a blank writing book. Choose a writing book that is easy to use: one that will lie flat and is a comfortable size, at least 5x7, and 7x10 is even better. Notebooks, journals, binders, and various writing books (made with acid-free paper, if possible) are plentiful at office supply, stationery, and book stores. The coated-wire spiral-bound design with its heavy black or colored cardboard cover is a handsome choice at a reasonable price. As time goes on you may want to personalize the cover with your name and a photograph, applied with paste or photo-corners. A large envelope pasted to the inside cover would be handy for photographs, old letters, etc. The most important consideration is to choose a writing book that you like.
Choosing the time and place. Where do you feel most comfortable and sometimes daydream—settled in a favorite chair or sitting at a table? Choose a recalling/writing spot where you feel relaxed and content. If convenient, add soft music that can help you drift back. The more you allow yourself to relax, the more you’ll recall. If you think you should write only when the spirit moves you, give that spirit some attention. Greet it with consistency. A set routine will reinforce its sense of importance—first thing in the morning for half an hour, with a cup of tea between ten and eleven every other day, Sunday evenings, or late at night. Set a date with yourself and Legacy, whenever and wherever you choose. A date that you’ll keep, even if the spirit doesn’t seem present.
Techniques for Getting Started. The very first session, start at the beginning of Legacy by warming up with the first two questions. Then consider the third question: “What are your earliest memories?”
For subsequent sessions, many people have found that beginning with the following simple exercise works well for them. With Legacy in hand and your writing book in your lap or on the table, choose a section you’d like to work on and select a question. Read the question once again, then close your eyes for a few moments. With your eyes still closed, take a few deep breaths, quietly saying the word “relax” as you slowly breathe out. Now repeat this, substituting “I remember” for “relax.” With your eyes still closed, using the name you like to be called, ask yourself the question you have chosen. Let yourself drift back to that time and as you start to see images, hear sounds, smell or feel something familiar, open your eyes and begin to write. Beginning each writing session with this exercise will help you focus and make the shift from your usual thoughts and activities.
As you reflect on the question, try jotting down first thoughts or images, anything that comes to mind as you read the question. For example, one woman noted these fleeting first thoughts at the top of her page when she considered the question “If you were to visit with your grandmother or grandfather, what would that have been like for you?”
grandmother . . . holidays . . . Sundays: be quiet, no bare feet, sit still, white wavy hair, soft cold perfumed skin, tight smile, straight back, criticisms. . . .
She then picked one thought, Sundays, and began to write, using some of her other images as memory expanded and more details came to mind.
Every Sunday, my whole family had to visit Grandmother. We children always complained and mother always reminded us the ordeal would last only about fifteen minutes, then we would be free. Sitting on the scratchy wool chairs, we waited to endure Grandmother’s questioning. We knew she expected silence until asked to speak. We also knew that if we weren’t careful, she’d find a way to slip in a criticism, and mother would defend us as we tried to figure out what to say while our father would look at us and try to remind us with a wink that this was not to be taken too seriously. If we accepted Grandmother’s inquisition politely, we would be excused to go out to the kitchen where exuberant Amelia waited for us with cokes and cookies, and then we would be ignored and free to run, roam, and poke around the garden, the attic, or any of the rooms as long as we stayed out of sight while the grown-ups continued to talk. I didn’t trust my grandmother and was always relieved but wary if she said something nice. My father would tell me she “just doesn’t know any other way to be,” which I’d remind myself, but the effect wasn’t lasting. I did my best to never get caught alone with her.
This technique of jotting down first thoughts or impressions also works if a subject seems too big or distant. Writing on one small piece of it is often enough to start the memories flowing.
Another approach that works well when you think of a time or an event is to describe what you are experiencing as if you are there, in that time. When the woman who wrote the previous piece tried again from the perspective of a seven-year-old, she found more details. Both versions are in her Legacy. Relaxed, with her eyes closed, she sat quietly for a few minutes and pictured herself younger, and younger, until she had an image of herself as a child in her grandmother’s living room. Slowly, she opened her eyes and began writing:
I’m 7 years old, squirming in my chair. This wool seat scratches against my bare legs. It’s bad enough we have to visit Grandmother, but it’s even worse, when we could be in our fort, to be here, dressed up and wearing shoes. I look at my brother and he rolls his eyes and my sister is trying to ignore us both, because she’s the one Grandmother is questioning. About school. The school part I wouldn’t mind, but she always asks me if I’m keeping my room neat. She doesn’t ask anyone else about their room, but she saw my room once a long time ago when I wasn’t home, and I guess my stuff was all around. She called it “a disgrace.” I can’t say it’s neat, because I didn’t actually straighten it today. If I say it’s not neat, she’ll say something mean again, and then look at Mommy as if she’s the one who has a messy room. I don’t know what I should say. When she asks me things that could turn bad, I usually don’t answer and look
