My grandparents on my mother’s side, Anthony and Helen D’Aquanni, are my heroes. If you’ve been reading Tuesdays with Tommy, or one of my books, or heard one of my keynotes, you’ve heard about them. They’ve had that kind of influence on me.
Anthony and Helen had a beautiful marriage. One I use as a guide for my own.
I come from a family marked by divorce. My parents divorced. My paternal grandparents divorced. My sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins all experienced marriages that ended. Anthony and Helen were the exception. They modeled something steady, loving, and enduring. A marriage that felt like it would outlast time itself.
More than twenty years after they’ve passed, their presence hasn’t faded. Their four daughters and fourteen grandchildren still talk about them…not occasionally, not monthly, but daily. That’s the kind of impact they’ve had. Their lives didn’t disappear when they did.
Anthony and Helen poured everything they had into their family. Into loving their kids and grandchildren. Into shaping them, guiding them, and becoming the steady foundation our family was built on.
Years ago, on what would have been their 75th wedding anniversary, my mom and her sisters held a Catholic Mass in their honor. My grandparents had long since passed, yet the church filled with people who had known them. Afterward, the priest said he had never seen so many people attend an anniversary for a couple who had already died. He paused and said, “Anthony and Helen must have had a special marriage.”
Today marks what would have been their 86th wedding anniversary, and it has got me thinking about legacy.
What happens to us when we’re gone? Who remembers us? And can our influence on the lives of others outlast our own mortality?
Here’s a humbling truth: fewer than 4% of Americans can name their great-grandparents. Not because those people didn’t matter, but because memory fades unless it’s intentionally carried forward.
If we’re lucky, we get 70 to 100 years on this earth. After death, the physical part of us fades quickly. Within months, our bodies decompose and become unrecognizable. Within years, mostly bones. And eventually, even that returns to the soil.
Simply put, we all become dust.
Our memory fades too. After we pass, the first generation vividly remembers us. The second generation, we become a story. The third, a name. By the fourth… often, nothing at all.
For most of us, our legacy after death is shorter than our life itself.
So, the question becomes: how do we live life in a powerful way that our influence carries on once we’re gone?
We can start with what my grandparents modeled so well…a life rooted in trust, partnership, friendship, and love. They poured into the people they loved with such intention that it created a ripple effect. One that moved from them to their children, to their grandchildren, and continues outward today.
That kind of legacy isn’t built through grand gestures. It’s built through daily ones.
Living a life of service. Putting others before ourselves. Going the extra mile when no one is watching. Being the person who shows up, listens, doesn’t judge, and sticks when things get hard.
It’s being someone people feel safe with. Someone they trust. Someone they learn from, not because of what you say, but because of how you live.
This isn’t just true in families. It’s true in leadership.
When we talk about leading with love and building heart-led culture, are we thinking beyond the people we lead today? Have we considered whether the foundation we’re laying will still stand firmly when we’re gone?
Leadership legacy isn’t built in big moments or speeches. It’s built in the quiet, ordinary decisions no one is applauding. It’s shaped by what we model. By how we treat people under pressure. Whether we listen first, protect our people, and choose humility over ego.
The leaders who are remembered aren’t remembered by accident. They build values that outlive them. Cultures that quietly say, “This is how we do things here.”
That’s legacy. And it’s something we build every single day.
I don’t share this because my life is special or deserving of remembrance. I share it because I want it to matter. I want the choices I make today to ripple forward long after I’m gone.
I don’t want people to remember my book titles or accomplishments. I want them to remember how they were treated. The positive influence I’ve had on their lives.
In 2040, my family will gather to celebrate my grandparents’ 100th wedding anniversary, forty years after they’ve gone. This amazes me, because it proves that a life lived with intention can echo long after our bodies return to dust.
So maybe legacy is what remains when everything else fades.
The love we gave. The values we lived. The people who are better because we were here.
One day, we’ll all return to dust. But the impact we’ve had on the lives of others…that can last for generations.
That’s the life Anthony and Helen lived. That’s the life I want to live. And I hope that’s the life you want to live too.