When we think about what we’ll leave behind, our minds often jump to wills, bank accounts, or legal forms. But the things that truly endure — the words that echo — are rarely notarized. They’re handwritten. Typed. Spoken in voice notes. They’re love letters, not legal ones.

A legacy letter isn’t formal. It’s deeply personal. It might be one page or ten. It doesn’t need structure, just sincerity. It’s your chance to say what mattered: what you loved, learned, struggled with, and hope for those who remain. It’s a place to forgive, thank, encourage, or simply remember.

These are the letters they’ll read again and again. In quiet moments, on birthdays, in the middle of the night. They’re what children reach for when they need their parent’s voice. What partners reread when anniversaries pass without you.

The Good Death Playbook helps you craft this emotional legacy with prompts, templates, and the time to reflect. Not to make it perfect — but to make it real.

Because when the noise of logistics fades, what’s left is love. And sometimes, love looks like a letter folded into a drawer, waiting for the right moment.