Maybe you can take it with you

This is for a friend.

Let's call him Leo.

Leo is at that point in life when we start to take stock of things; when we ask questions like "have I made a difference?" or "what have I contributed?" or "has my life been worth living?"

He's been struggling a bit with those questions. He's not been all that sure what his answers ought to be.

Pushing 90, Leo has been in somewhat of a hurry to sort all this out. He may not have all that much time. So he has worked hard in therapy. I've worked hard, too.

Recently, the answers have started to come.

Leo had been quite successful in business. He made a good deal of money, had a good reputation, and left a sound company for his successors to manage. Leo had a big house in an upscale suburb; three cars in the garage; vacations in the mountains or Europe. He'd raised four children; put them all through college; made sure they all got off to a good start; even brought some of them into the business.

Had he made a difference? Had he contributed something? Had his life been worth living? Leo had come to conclude that the answer to these questions really didn't depend all that much on his business success, comfortable lifestyle or legacy to his children. As we talked, he began to remember other things that seemed much more important to him.

He recalled the chance he took in hiring immigrants who barely spoke English but who needed jobs. It didn't always work out, sometimes it cost him money, but it seemed important.

And what about the time he used to spend helping out the elderly couple who lived next door? (Leo laughed a bit: "Wouldn't they get a chuckle out of seeming me now!")

The business almost went under once. It came down to just Leo and his wife, Catherine, holding things together. But, oh, the closeness they found. Sometimes it seemed like the tough times did more to bring them together than all the expensive trips and vacations. Their best times were more often at a sick child's bedside than at the seaside. Catherine had certainly been special.

Then there was that time he lost a business deal because he left a meeting early to attend his eldest daughter's orchestra concert. He really wondered about that decision, but it seemed so important to her. Why, just last Christmas, when they went to her own daughter's school program, his daughter reminded him of that concert.

And now? Leo still found things that needed doing. Why, he still delivered meals on wheels three times a week. And just keeping track of all his kids and grandkids was quite a job.

Now, Leo was no saint. There were plenty of things he remembered that he was not particularly proud of. We talked about these too. But when it came right down to it …

Yes, he had made a difference. He had contributed something. His life had been worth living - and still was.

Leo came in a few weeks ago for our last session.

"You know, Ken," he began, "you always hear people say you can't take it with you. But you can."

I looked puzzled.

"I don't mean the money and all that. That was nice, certainly. I wouldn't give it up. But I'm talking about the rest," he said. "It's been a good life. I'm glad I lived it. And I can take that with me."

Thanks, Leo. You taught me a lot.

• Dr. Ken Potts is on the staff of Samaritan Counseling Center in Naperville and Downers Grove. He is the author of "Mix Don't Blend, A Guide to Dating, Engagement and Remarriage With Children."