What If They Remember You?

It can be comforting to imagine that after you die, after you finally stop moving and your body begins to decay, eventually people won’t remember you.

That your life, the moves you make now, can be free of the expectations of legacy, of the weight of having to perform for society or your parents or even your social circle.

That you can be free, no matter how hard it is to make that feel real in the here and now.

But what if they do remember you?

In my family, legacy is real.

My dad is long gone, but the people who knew him and loved him well still check on me every holiday, singing me happy birthday through the phone in a celebration that’s as much for me as it is for their memories. The stories they tell remain, just like the one I wrote for the Washington Post, where my dad’s photo smiles at me from our old family garden. His face, our name, his lessons, part of the archives.

I’ve stood in front of my Grandpa’s work in the Pompidou in Paris, taking in the careful placement, the lighting, the shades of blue as it hung just so in the exhibit. I’ve gone to visit his paintings at Smithsonian museums in DC, steps away from my small studio apartment, whose collections contain more of his pieces than I’ll ever own in my lifetime.

I’ve posthumously toasted my grandpa among strangers gathered to celebrate what would have been his 100th birthday at a museum. I’ve washed cake down with wine as a group of older guests tried to be sly while they pointed and someone said “those are the grandkids”.

And now, it’s Granny’s turn.

Restaurant Teruko has opened, named for her in the historic Hotel Chelsea in NYC where she once lived as a young, undiscovered artist. My mom, at times overcome with emotion, primped and dressed for the opening in the hotel suite that was once the home where she lived as a tiny baby with her parents, with Granny. Downstairs the staff prepared for a feast, an opening, a reveal, complete with Granny’s art on the walls and her name above the door.

I think about legacy in relation to my own life and work, as someone child-free by choice, who feels like most of her time is spent just trying to figure shit out.

So, what if they do remember me one day?

I hope it’s for my wit, my love of smut, my adventurous spirit, and most of all for my commitment to community. I hope it’s for joy, for art, for pleasure.

Paid subs, our next NYC dinner will definitely be at Teruko!