Most deaths are inherently a time for reflection. Indeed, if the person was at all known by family, neighbors or friends, reflections abound immediately afterward, at funerals and memorial services, and at anniversaries that call the person’s memory to mind. Such nostalgia is natural.

It is even more natural when the person is as illustrious as Neil Armstrong.

At 82 years old, Armstrong died on Saturday. And while most 82-year-olds die able to say they have lived a full life, Armstrong went farther than almost anyone else. Having pushed the envelope of human endurance and the limits of flight, he became the first of 12 men in the world to set foot on the moon.

That feat has not been accomplished since the Apollo 17 mission that ended on Dec. 19, 1972. Also since that time, no man has flown beyond low-earth orbit. As a polity, we have decided boldly going where no man has gone before is not worth our energy and resources. In a very literal way, we have defined our comfortable limits and chosen to live within them.

In an even more literal way, we will — if we ever step off the safety of terra firma — be boldly going where no man has gone before. Armstrong’s death closes us off from the history he made. Separated now from his experiences by virtue of the fact that we can no longer actually ask him about them, the history of one man taking a small step and mankind taking a giant leap is now an academic exercise.

History can live, but only so long as the people with stories have life in their lungs.

Now, more than ever, we will be going where none of us has gone before. If we ever attempt a lunar landing again, or a landing anywhere else, we cannot call on Armstrong’s expertise. We will have to figure it out on our own. The survival of explorers and doers will be solely up to them. While we may learn from Armstrong’s experiences, we cannot learn from them because he has taught us.

Each new generation, as well as each individual, must make its or his or her own history. The great question for us all is this: Will the stories we tell be the same ones told to us? Or will we do something on our own that we can add to the body of history, folklore and myth? When we die, will the legacy we leave be one that we added to? Or will we have merely reclined in our chairs, listened passively and passed on the high achievements of previous generations?

Now, rather than sit on the knees and listen to the stories of a man who did what many thought was impossible, we must do the same — so that, in our old age, we can do for future generations what was done for us. Now, it is our turn to do inspiring things that are of dubious possibility so that we have stories of our own to tell. Resting on our laurels will be insufficient. Our inheritance is just that: It is ours in a very special way that will not belong to the people who inherit a legacy from us. Doing something with it, learning from it, is up to us. Doing something as noteworthy as landing on the moon — and safely returning from the inhospitably hostile environment of space — might take a while.

That should not discourage us.

The noble deeds of history are done as often by old men as they are by young men. In Rome, Cincinnatus left his plow to take up the dictatorship first when he was 62 years old and again when he was 81 years old. George Washington was elected president when he was 56 years old. “Missing our chance” is not an excuse. History-making is not an activity reserved for youths.

The author George Eliot wisely stated, “It is never too late to become what you might have been.”

When we are old, we ought still to be asking ourselves: “How will I use this day? How will I use this moment?” The turning points in our lives are defined by the turns we take, not the times. Redemption and achievement are always possible.