Start building your legacy of kindness and service to others, before it’s too late: Vincent Burke

To young people and the middle-aged I have advice: Start thinking now about what will be said about you when you're gone. Don't wait and risk the rude awakening that happened to me recently—at age 90.

In the past, I had many times reviewed my life and was quite satisfied. Being gay, I had no children, but for 40 years I had a perfect partner, who died, and now I have the perfect spouse, so far for 21 years. Although my father abandoned the family when I was three, I had a loving mother and ideal sister. I had interesting jobs, first as a reporter for the old Cleveland News, then as an adman on Madison Avenue. And I'm still in fairly good condition.

A successful life, I concluded many times. No regrets.

Then one day in a nostalgic tenor, I decided to look up the obituary of Terry, a friend and ex-partner, that I had read 15 years ago had died. We had been inseparable the 10 years I lived in Cleveland but drifted apart when I relocated to New York City. In my original reading, I didn't notice the "Memories and Condolences" section. I saw it now and read it with astonishment and admiration. And with envy — of the love and gratitude Terry had inspired.

For, apparently, the fun-loving man I knew in his 20s had, in the decades since, morphed into a caring, advice-giving, problem-solving statesman at a West Side community center. A dozen young people, some now heads of family, expressed in writing their love for him, their thankfulness for his help, and their extreme sorrow at his passing.

One cited "your strength in need." Another wrote of him as, "the one who understood me when no one else did." A young man stated, "I loved him and always will." A woman called Terry "a man with one of the most concerned hearts I ever met." His young nephew composed a 30-line poem to his uncle: "...You were the one I could confide in..."

Legacy has been defined as the sum of the personal values, accomplishments and actions that resonate with the people around you, or the way you're remembered for your character, reputation and the life you lived. What a beautiful legacy Terry left. I was filled with awe.

I thought of another friend I had who lived in Cleveland Heights, and I now recalled that his obituary praised him for his activism in LGBTQ affairs in Sarasota, Florida, where he relocated after retirement, and his leadership in historic preservation. Another tinge of regret at my own years.

I reflected on the lack of contribution I had made in my long life. I did care for my mother and sister in their last days, and Jack, my first partner. I contribute to a slew of good causes and include them in my will. Although not a doctor, I try to abide by the Hippocratic Oath: First, do no harm. But surely that should be a minimum, to do no harm. Who have I helped as Terry had?

Have I affected lives, been there in time of need, found words of wisdom for a distressed lad or grieving widow as my long-ago friend had? What will they write about me?

If only I were a half century younger, I'd still have time to change things, to build a legacy. I advise those still young to work on their own legacy right away, by earning love and gratitude. Opportunities are everywhere.

But maybe there's still hope for me, despite my age. If my advice here moves some to good works, in order to improve their legacy—then I, by proxy, have improved my own.

and has many relatives here. He is the author of "Forgiveness: A Gay Man's Memoir."

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