I’ve Decided What My Legacy Is During Colon Cancer

When you enter the world of cancer, you find a lot of discussion on the idea of a person’s legacy. In my short time living with a colon cancer diagnosis, I have found the question to be almost suffocating when I think about it. For me, legacy is usually in the context of a monetary gift. I think of the janitor who squirreled away millions and then left it to the community he served. The idea becomes grandiose and I can’t quite grapple with what legacy I have that is worth leaving.

I was diagnosed at the age of 37, and at the time, my kids were 3 and 5 years old and just turned 6 and 8. I remember thinking my sweet 3-year-old may never even remember me, let alone remember me before cancer. My kids remembering me became an idea I fixated on and an idea that propelled me forward as I underwent more treatment than I care to remember. In the almost two years since a trip to the ER that revealed a mass in my colon and, subsequently, numerous masses indicative of metastasis in my liver, I have had a lot of time to pause and reflect on my life and the legacy I wish to live.

I am constantly in awe of the cancer community and those individuals and groups that leave profound legacies. Perhaps it's a book that will go on to comfort millions of people diagnosed after them, a fund in honor of a loved one that helps individuals seek out additional care or an organization to make sure families are able to make lasting memories together. The collective legacies left by the cancer community are intense and awe-inspiring. So then, the question always surfaces: what do I have to offer?

I kept coming back to this question over and over in the two years since my diagnosis. Other patients have asked me “Have you thought of what you want your legacy to be?” I would think up ideas and how to implement them. Then just as quickly my inner voice would always remind me, that I have no idea how much more time I have left on this earth. Therefore, do I really want to spend the remaining time I have here working on things that may perhaps take me away from my family? This became a resounding theme whenever I thought of projects that I could be working on — but what about my kids? I want to spend as much time as I have left with them.

Then one day, it sank in. My kids are my biggest legacy. How could an idea so simple take so long to realize? My kids are my biggest legacy — isn’t that a beautiful thing? Does this mean that now I must impose unrealistic aspirations on them? No. Do they need to be doctors, lawyers or work for Greenpeace changing the world? Also, no. What I do know is I want my legacy to be empathetic, kind and generous. To me, not much else matters.

Are my kids empathetic, kind and generous? It is the question I have asked myself every day since becoming a mom and the compass on which we raise our family. These characteristics I hope my kids will hold have not changed since my diagnosis, but I have seen how important they really are.

Are the grandiose ideas and plans others have made any less significant? No. In fact, we need people willing to write the books, form the foundations and help the families. But we all do not need to feel like we have to be doing those things to make a difference in this world long after we are gone, perhaps raising good humans is enough.

So, I challenge my fellow moms and dads with cancer. When you think of legacy, or someone asks you about your legacy, you don’t need to look outside your walls. Maybe the greatest legacy you have is sitting beside you on the couch or sitting in a highchair throwing mashed potatoes across the room, again.

This story was written and submitted by Lauryn Cooney. The article reflects the views of Cooney and not of CURE®. This is also not supposed to be intended as medical advice.

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