I know that Mary Poppins suggested we “start at the very beginning,” and I agree with her “that’s a very good place to start.” However, I am captivated today with a phrase I heard in a meeting with several men early yesterday morning, sipping coffee together, and supporting one another in our varied lives.

“In the end . . . .“

My intent in this short blog entry is not to be morbid, however; rather, to be practical. To be real.

I suspect that you, like me, are focused almost ALL THE TIME on the proverbial here-and-now, gliding through life’s glorious days of sunshine, or trudging through the mud of life’s challenging rainy days. Seldom do we think of our final day(s). Who will be present at our bedside, and who will not? What will be the experience of our last walk in the park, the final book read, the last meal, the last embrace with a loved one?

It will come, of course. The End. The last page in your life’s book. The curtain closing. The stage lights darkened. The adoring audience (assuming you have one) departed.

I’ve seen this happen over and over again in my 70 years on this earth. The first ENDING I can recall is my maternal grandfather’s passing (I was just a young boy), but as time went on other relatives and friends and numerous acquaintances joined the procession, some young, some old. And finally my own father made the journey across, then a few years later, my mother. Then my wife’s father, then her mother.

My father enjoyed a final meal in hospice, having spent the previous day singing old hymns to himself, then the following day, quietly in the evening, after his supper he made the journey. My mother awoke briefly from her sleep just long enough for the nurse to ask if she needed anything, then after responding . . . took her last breath.

There are no advertisements on television about The End; no products or merchandise presented to the would-be consumer (only to the family or friends they leave behind). Few popular movies prepare viewers for The End, and you’ll be hard pressed to find any T-shirts with logos or cute sayings that seriously address your final day. But you can be sure that day will come.

All our efforts at eating healthy, exercising religiously, and keeping a positive attitude will one day be swallowed up by an atrophying force that won’t take “No” for an answer. In spite of all our attempts to stave it off . . . it will come.

If you have spent your life focused on achievement in business, sports, education, etc. – it really matters not at that point. In the End the celebrity, the CEO, the dock worker, the housewife, the ne’er-do-well, all pass through the same checkpoint. And what is left . . . ; that is, the impression you leave behind on all those you’ve touched (because you will leave an impression) will be tied to what mattered most to you.

You’ll not get guidance on this from your TV or streaming service, most likely; you won’t get help from most of the billboards along the roadways you travel, or in the stores where you shop. Those are targeted for the living, for the never-dying, for those who don’t care to focus on The End.

I suppose, truth-be-told, consumerism would have to absorb an almost fatal blow if many of us decided to focus on The End. We would, no doubt, prioritize quite differently; our majors and minors would alter drastically; what we would consider achievements would be almost unrecognizable to our former selves. We might be . . . (and here I’m really going out on a limb) . . . forever changed.

But let’s get real, OK? Being focused on The End doesn’t have to mean planning your funeral over and over, or daily setting out the clothes you want to be buried in, etc. For instance, a close friend of mine shared with me a personal practice he has employed for years; namely, writing a personal letter to each family member at Christmas each year. Whether a toddler in the family, or an older relative, you would receive from my friend a letter honoring you and/or detailing his hopes or dreams for your future, and including his affection for you in case he were to realize his End within the new year; he doesn’t want anything to be left unsaid.

We’re all after a legacy, aren’t we; how we will be remembered? Often, when compelled to consider his/her END, a person will plan to leave money, stocks, or bonds, etc. as a bequest to someone(s). And that is wonderful to do, of course. The memory of you, passed down from generation to generation, will eventually fade and ultimately vanish entirely. What will not fade are the character traits, the admirable qualities (or the opposite), the unique contributions you have made to your loved ones; often these arrive in beautifully wrapped packages of kindness, generosity of spirit, shared wisdom, and life change, i.e. who you truly are. Those will affect the lives and behavior of those to close to you, and, in turn, those close to them; on and on it will go like the ripples in a pond.

You may not have known it, but everyone who enters this world is a singer; everyone sings his/her unique song. And every other singer hears the song you sing. Your song either adds beauty to their song, or ugliness; you get to decide.

I want to live in such a way that when my final day arrives the tears that are shed will be accompanied with quotable quotes, memories that include lots of laughter, stories that tell the truth about me, but most of all . . . lives that are forever influenced for good . . . . In fact, I’d love for the influence to be so seamless, so natural, so silent that it is not even attributed to me by the bearer; rather, that others would have to say to that person, “You know, you got that from _______.” That’s what I heard said to me many years ago when someone said, “You walk just like your (paternal) grandfather” (a man who died years before I was born). I never met him. Never watched his movements. Yet . . . I walk like him.

What would you like your legacy to be? You don’t have to be old to consider it. But you will have to give it some thought. Just remember . . . who you decide to be . . . will affect generations to come. And in the End . . . (I suspect) that’s what will matter to you most.