Some Legacies Are Never Posted
Earlier this week, I was invited to give a few words at the launch of Hispanic Image Magazine’s 25 Women of Legacy — Rhode Island Edition. It was a wonderful and intimate gathering celebrating 25 remarkable women in the state of Rhode Island.
Of course, I went off script. Not because I am difficult—I promise I am not—but because when I started writing down what I know, or perhaps more accurately, what I feel about legacy, a few questions came to mind.
I am an ’80s cool kid. When I was growing up, there was no social media. There was no Instagram documenting where we went, what we accomplished, who we met, or what we—or our pets—had for lunch. One of the first questions that popped into my head was:
How did we measure the legacy someone left behind back then?
Today, we live in a world where, if it wasn't posted, shared, liked, or viewed a million times, sometimes it can feel as though it didn't happen. Yes, I am being sarcastic. Nice to meet you! But there are moments when I find our obsession with views and visibility a little nauseating, as though being seen has somehow become synonymous with having an impact.
And yet, the question remains: How do we know what kind of legacy someone has left?
I found my answer in my grandmother.
Her name was Doña Maria Deveaux Jimenez. She wasn't famous. She didn't have a social media following. There are no viral videos documenting the ways she showed up for people in our community. Her legacy wasn't a brand. It wasn't carefully curated or strategically communicated. Some legacies Are Never Posted.
It was witnessed. It was felt. It lived.
Thirteen years after her passing, people still tell her stories.
When I return to Los Llanos, where we grew up, people often learn that I am her granddaughter and the stories begin. Someone remembers something she did to help. Someone remembers a problem she tried to solve. Someone remembers a time she showed up, asked for help on behalf of someone else, or simply made herself useful when someone needed her. No one needs to pull out a photograph. No one needs to find a post. No one needs to prove that it happened.
They remember.
And that, to me, is one of the most beautiful things about legacy. It doesn't require an audience. It requires an impact.
My grandmother's legacy lives in the people she helped and in the example she left for her children and grandchildren. It lives in the way they show up for others because that is what they watched her do.
We often speak about legacy as though it is something we build toward—a final chapter, a body of work, an achievement that will outlive us. But what if legacy isn't something we leave at all?
What if legacy is the way we live?
It is in how we treat people when there is nothing to gain. It is in whether we make room for someone else when we finally get a seat at the table. It is in what we choose to teach, what we choose to challenge, and what we choose to change. It is in the courage to walk away from something that no longer reflects who we are, and in the generosity to hold the door open for someone coming behind us.
Most importantly, I think legacy is found in the example we set.
Because people may forget what we said. They may forget the titles we held, the rooms we entered, even some of the things we accomplished. But they remember what we modeled.
They remember the woman who showed up.
The woman who helped.
The woman who made space.
The woman who believed in them before they believed in themselves.
That was the woman my grandmother was to so many people.
And I think that is what made the 25 Women of Legacy gathering so meaningful to me. Not simply because we were celebrating accomplishments, but because we were being reminded that a life can have an impact in ways we cannot always see while we are living it.
There were women in that room whose stories I knew, and women whose stories I did not. I left knowing some of them for the first time—and I genuinely feel like I am a better person for it.
And perhaps that is another beautiful thing about legacy: one person's example can become part of someone else's story. So I don't think we need to wait until the end of our lives to ask what our legacy will be. Perhaps the better question is much simpler:
What are we modeling today?
Because whether we realize it or not, someone is watching.
And someday, someone may tell a story about us.
I hope mine is not about what I had.
I hope it is about how I lived.
And, most of all, I hope that somewhere along the way, I left something inside of someone that made it a little easier for them to become who they were meant to be.
That is what I saw reflected in the 25 women honored in this year's Rhode Island edition of 25 Women of Legacy. Each of them, in her own way, is leaving something behind—not simply through what she has achieved, but through the people she has inspired, the communities she has touched, and the example she continues to set.
So, in their honor, I invite you to meet the 25 women whose stories were featured in this edition. Click on their names to learn more about the women behind the recognition and the legacies they are creating every day.
Carol Aguasvivas | ||||
Shirley Castellanos | Damaris Messina | |||
Nelly Offens-Vargas |
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