In the early days of My Legacy Story, before it was a website or a workbook or anything polished, it was simply a gathering.
Once a month, in a cozy little room at Stevenson Place, the independent living facility I work at, a few of us would come together with tea, cookies, and a handful of legacy questions I had just begun to shape. We called it the Legacy Group. It was gentle and meaningful and slow — like steeping something warm and wise.
Shirley was there from the beginning. She had a spark to her — playful, wise, and deeply thoughtful. One afternoon, between bites of shortbread, she looked at me and said, “Hilary, these questions are fun… but you do know I’m old, right?” Then she laughed, that kind of dry, knowing laugh that only comes from someone who has lived long and well.
She told me how every morning she called her friend to make sure she was still alive — “just to see if she woke up today.” It wasn’t morbid; it was full of humour and care. She said, “Birds sing in the morning to say ‘I’m awake! I made it through the night.’ That’s what we old people do too.”
And then she said something that stayed with me. She’d been sharing the legacy questions with her friend during their morning calls. “I ask her a question from the group, and we both answer it,” she said. “We’ve known each other forever, but we’ve started to really know each other. It’s opened up these honest conversations between us that we just never had before.”
That simple act — asking a thoughtful question, listening, sharing — became a morning ritual between two friends at the tail end of long, beautiful lives. And it reminded me why I started this work in the first place.
Shirley has since passed. I was with her at her bedside as she left this world, offering Reiki as she transitioned. It was one of the most profound and humbling moments of my life. I felt the energy shift, the soft letting go. She left a mark on my heart, and she will always be part of the soul of My Legacy Story.
This project isn’t just about documenting a life. It’s about connecting while we still can — with friends, partners, family. It’s about opening gateways to truth and tenderness, laughter and memory. Just like Shirley did.
So maybe today, you call a friend. Ask them a question. Answer it together. And in your own way, sing to the morning.