Reposting from August last year, because it’s been a year now since I lost all four of my grandparents, plus had an uncle diagnosed with pancreatic cancer (he’s since passed away as well). And, IDK, this felt like a timely reminder.
My Nana passed away in the night.
I wasn’t extremely close to her, so I’m more grieving for my mum’s sake, but regardless, I am sad.
On the way in to drop my son off to school this morning, it was raining. The ground was wet.
On the way back out, I noticed a set of footprints, clear and distinct, leading into the school.
Mine, I supposed, but I’d need to check the soles of my shoes to be sure.
It’s funny, because anyone who’d seen me walk into the school would have seen without a trace of doubt or confusion the marks I left behind me as I walked, the way I left my own, unique imprint on the world simply as a consequence of moving through it.
But without stopping and deliberately checking, I couldn’t see them myself–and when I did see them, I couldn’t actually be sure they were mine.
We leave impressions as we move through life in so, so many ways–far more than we will ever be able to count or measure or recognise ourselves. But the people around us see them, are influenced by them.
Have you ever seen someone’s footprints on the ground, perhaps in sand or snow or just wet marks on the pavement, and deliberately tried to keep pace with them for a while?
Someone else, moving oblivious through the world, dragged you into their orbit for a while, encouraged you to try out their pace, their cadence, their way of moving, just for a moment or two.
You drag people into your orbit. They follow along behind you, and you never see them, never know, never realise or recognise that the very act of your passing has drawn them into a brief but tangible dance with you, where you influenced the very way they proceed through their own lives.
We can never see all those who follow along behind; if we stopped to watch, we’d stop moving ourselves, and the trail of people behind would peter out, because we’d not be leaving any new steps for them to follow.
All we can do is keep moving, keep pushing forward, one step at a time, however slow or fast that may be, however large or small, however long it takes–and hope that each step is done in kindness, humility, joy, and dignity, so that when others are–inevitably–drawn in by our passing, when others see us pass and easily recognise our imprint, it is a positive one, that has, in some small way, changed the world for good.
No one leaves only good; I’d wager only a very, very few leave only bad.
Nana was, like all of us, imperfect, but I will treasure the positive memories I have of her, and hope that, each day, the footsteps I leave behind me will be kind.
May your footsteps be likewise blessed, and your impression upon this world help to build it up. <3