My toddler son brought the iPad over to me and asked, “Who’s that?” while pointing to a photo of my mother. Of course he wouldn’t remember her. He just turned two. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
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The Grieving Atheist 
That’s tough. My nephew doesn’t remember my dad (he was only a year old when he died), but he knows exactly who he is, and even talks about him as if he remembers him. My sister tells him stories all the time. It made her sad at first, but now it makes her happy to give those memories to her son.
I hardly remember my grandfather, but I’ve come to suspect that certain values common to all his children and grandchildren may be the reflections of lessons he learned in his own life. Without exception, each of us graduated from college, for instance, and there are other commonalities that can’t be traced to genetics (as far as I know). I can recognize echoes of my father’s life in mine, too.
I don’t want to live forever, and when I die, I have no illusions about an afterlife, and that’s okay with me. It’s a comfort, though, to think that– maybe– the lessons I’ve learned the hard way might echo along in someone else’s life, and make their lives a little easier.
After I commented here, I decided to post my comment to my own blog. I hope you don’t mind. Thanks for your writing, which obviously moves me.