My mother died almost exactly a year ago after a 3-year illness that was as cruel as it was relentless. In the years prior however, she had more energy than people 1/2 her age and was as sharp as the day she graduated from Stanford. She and my father, although not “wealthy” by the strict western definition of the word, certainly had the means to engage in all sort of creative endeavors during the last decade or so of her life.

“What do you want to do, mom?” I’d ask from time to time.

“Oh, maybe buy an old house in western Massachusetts (she’s from California), fix it up and run a B&B” she’d say.

“Why don’t you?” I’d press.

“Oh, that’s just a dream,” she’d reply with that far off look that said it would never happen.

I never understood it until the end when I realized that for her “live your life on purpose” meant one thing only-Family. We’re not a terribly prolific bunch, so that basically meant my wife and our two boys-we finally moved in next door.

Sharing her life, her experiences and her love with all of us was how she chose to live her live on purpose. Even now, a full year after her death, she continues to teach us that lesson.