Check the obits - and carry on
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The following is not meant to be offensive, but rather a tongue-in-cheek reminder that we all need to be ready for the inevitable, and perhaps we should do all we can to make it easier for those left behind.
I’m purging. No, not my body. The home office. And while I’m at it, I’m completing our ‘just in case’ file. You know, the file that has insurance policies, list of accounts, funeral wishes, etc. that will be needed by my Power of Attorney just in case…. which made me think about obits.
What strikes me is how the recently deceased can be made to sound so plain vanilla. Everyone dies. They leave loving husbands and wives and children and grandchildren and special friends. They lived here and there, maybe had a job and belonged to a church. The end. That's it!
No 'She once saved the life of a friend.’ Never ‘She was an expert at whistling God Save the Queen.’ Not even a ‘ever had a speeding ticket.’ Or ‘Known for her delicious thick-crust apple pie.’ (Any of those would be a lie in my case.)
When I die, I want my obituary to reflect me and my life, the way I lived it. It's not that difficult. Even a little zinger can say volumes. Like, ‘In lieu of flowers, please send sarcastic letters to her sister-in-law, who never liked her anyway.’ Or, ‘Her computer was buried with her.’
Of course, I want to be dead first.
What was it George Burns said? “Every morning I get up, I read the obituary page. If my name is not there, I shave.”
Turns out, reading your own obit is no more unusual these days than it was in 1897 when the New York Journal erroneously published Mark Twain's premature obituary. In 2003 Fidel Castro, Dick Cheney, Nelson Mandela, Bob Hope, Gerald Ford, Pope John Paul II, and Ronald Reagan were all reported as dead when CNN accidentally released their draft obituaries.
In 1922, when Pope Benedict XV was ill, a special edition of a New York newspaper screamed ‘Pope Benedict XV Is Dead’ across the front page. The newspaper had a sense of humour about its terrible gaffe and ran a follow-up headline later in the day, ‘Pope Has Remarkable Recovery.
That we could all be so fortunate!
Therefore I’ve pondered. Why trust someone else to write my obituary? Especially maybe a funeral director who only knows my name and what little information is given to him. So, I’m going to write my own obituary. This could be more important than my epitaph. Let’s face it; few will ever visit my grave (unless it is Laurel Beechey or her descendent in a quest to solve grave mysteries). So my obit will either be my final whimper or my last hurrah. I plan to write it the way I want to be remembered, for my charms and oddities, even the lessons of my life.
There are several reasons for writing my own obit. I know my story best. It will spare a friend or family member during a time of (I hope) weeping and wailing. It will save them time on researching and pondering over my life, and going through my stuff. And I can also choose my own picture!
Once it's done, I’m going to stick my draft obit in my ‘just in case’ file with other burial information. Hopefully, my efforts will one day be appreciated. Or my friends or family may laugh hysterically at my delusions of grandeur. Either way I will get my version out there.
So, I’m going visit my local funeral home to obtain an obit form to make sure I include all the necessary information. Then, I’m going to get a box of Kleenex, put on my favourite sad music, and begin. If I don’t first choke to death on my own words, I believe I’d like to start out with: “As she was kissed by her loving husband, recently married 101-year-old Peggy Radcliff…”
Email: outoftherecliner@gmail.com