Obituary

     When I was in high school, a popular writing assignment was to write your own obituary.  I guess the purpose was to reflect on what you wanted to accomplish in life.  But, back in the day, teachers weren't required to write objectives on the board, so I'm not 100% sure.

     I didn't repeat this morbid idea when I became an English teacher. I had kids write resumes and job descriptions for characters we studied. I even had them diagnose a character with a mental illness as we read Macbeth.   But, I couldn't wrap my head around the obituary or eulogy thing.  Not to mention, I imagined the onslaught of angry parent emails and phone calls when I made their precious pumpkins imagine their deaths. No thanks.

     I don't even know why this popped into my head this morning. I certainly wasn't pondering death. I really wasn't even pondering life. My brain just has a weird way of presenting things at seemingly random moments, usually when I am completing some mundane chore.

     However, when my random thoughts occur, I am trying to pay attention to them.

     As I reflected, I thought of the obituaries I see in the newspaper.  Pictures, some current, some old. Names. Birth date and date of death. Sometimes the cause of death. Family left behind. Family who went before.

     I am not a big fan of any of this.  I don't necessarily want an obituary, especially if it entails a picture. I am not photogenic. At all. And, if the eulogy is genuine and injected with humor, OK. But, if it's a gut-wrenching highlight of only my life's accomplishments, no thanks. There are those who think I think I'm perfect, but those who really know me know that I concentrate on every single flaw, whether it be embedded in my personality or physicality. I use self-depracating humor to make light of it all, partially to entertain, but mostly to let people know I am not afraid to poke fun at myself.

     Here's what I would like my family and friends to say about me after I'm gone:


  • She genuinely cared about others.
  • She was kind, but still had an edge.
  • She was funny and quick-witted.
  • She had a great smile and infectious laugh.
  • She left me feeling uplifted.
  • She did her best to help those in need.
  • She was generous. 
  • She took herself and her work seriously, but she also knew when to admit her flaws.
  • She was my rock.
  • She was my go-to person.
  • She got stuff done.

    Notice that nothing surfaced about a clean house, great body, perfect teeth, flawless skin, impeccable manners, or financial gain. Because those things I spend too much time worrying about don't mean anything when you're gone. 

    My legacy, I realized, needs to be about more than appearances. It needs to be real. I need to be real. So, please don't slap a picture of me in the newspaper with a bunch of useless information when I'm gone. Just remember how I made you feel. And, hopefully, I made you feel important. 

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