The Most Meaningful Work I’ve Ever Done: Reflections from a Legacy Coach

I’ve been a Legacy Coach for a little over two years now, and in that time, I’ve guided seven stories—seven lives, seven families, seven sets of memories that still stay with me. I’ve laughed in every session. I’ve cried in every session. And every time I pack up my notes and walk out the door, I feel the same quiet truth settle in: this is the most meaningful work I’ve ever done.

I came to Legacy Coaching as an oncology nurse who had recently transitioned to remote work. I loved my patients, especially those in hospice care. There’s something sacred about helping someone feel their best in the hardest moments. When I heard about Amadora Legacy Project at a nursing conference, I knew the mission aligned with everything I cared about—but it wasn’t until I saw highlights from an actual legacy video that I felt the pull deep in my chest. The video was deeply touching. I realized how much I missed the strong connection and deep relationship I could form with people. Legacy Coaching felt like a meaningful way to fill that gap.

The first story that stayed with me

I’ll never forget the first filming session I led on my own. No shadowing, no backup—just me, my nerves, and a participant who turned out to be one of the most laid‑back people I’ve ever met. His wife had made brownies for the team and set out drinks, and I remember thinking, we’re supposed to be helping you feel comfortable, and here you are taking care of us.

We bonded over our shared love of Iowa State University. He told me the story of how the marching band ended up being called the “Varsity” band—something about a coach walking into the locker room and questioning why the band was in the varsity space, and a quick‑thinking bandmate replying, “Well, we’re the Varsity Marching Band.” The name stuck. To this day, whenever I hear the band at an ISU game, I think of him.

The stories that become gifts

Another participant passed away just two days after we filmed. He was very ill, but when he began telling stories—about his childhood, his family, even a hilarious moment involving a stick shift he couldn’t drive—he lit up. His wife and son listened from the side, laughing softly, soaking in every word. We tried not to laugh too loudly so we wouldn’t ruin the audio. When we wrapped up filming, I knew the video would be beautiful. After he passed, his wife sent a message thanking us for making the experience so smooth and meaningful. I still have that message saved in my Inbox.

What a session really looks like

Each story begins long before the camera turns on. I spend about an hour virtually or on the phone getting to know the participant—what they want to talk about, what matters most, what they hope their loved ones will hear. Some want a list of exact questions. Others prefer to wing it. My job is to make them feel safe enough to lead.

On filming day, I check in first: How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Some people get nervous when they see the lights and equipment. But once we start talking, the nerves melt. We begin with light, easy stories and slowly move toward deeper reflections—what they’ve learned, what they hope for, what comes next. If they need a break, we take one. If they need prompting, I gently guide them. Authenticity is the only goal.

The final part of the session is always the hardest: personal messages for loved ones. I leave the room, so they have privacy. Not everyone chooses to record one, but when they do, I know those messages will become treasures.

Why these stories matter

People often think they need “big” stories to make a legacy video about their life. They don’t. Every story matters. Every voice needs to be heard. I’ve worked with participants who have adult children in their fifties and others with kids as young as nine. No matter the age, those children will want to hear their parent’s voice someday. They’ll want to remember how they sounded, how they laughed, how they told a story. They’ll want to share their loved one with more loved ones. These videos give families something to hold onto on the days they miss them most.

Why I keep doing this work

If you love people—really love listening, connecting, and honoring who they are—being a Legacy Coach is a gift. You become part of someone’s story, and in a small way, part of their legacy. It’s humbling. It’s beautiful. And it’s something I hope more people will consider doing.