Life is a collection of times, infinitely stretching on. Those memories will fade with time; however, and we will be left with little to nothing. We will disintegrate, go to zero, die.
What we make of life is whether there are those who will remember the woman. Not just the actions. The changes she induced on the world will mean little one day. Every great idea is just a problem for someone in the future. One day it will be heralded as genius and the next it will be regarded as foolish, at best.
So the value of the life is then how many other people you really affected. How many people will say I am a good woman when it is my time?
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