What if I wrote my own obituary?

What if I wrote my own obituary?

A shocking request, I know.

My life’s work, goals, and achievements can’t be reduced to a few lines after the ‘how it went down’ information. Besides, people aren’t reading obituaries for inspiration. They are reading out of sheer nosiness.

For some reason, us southerners get a strange thrill out of being the first one to announce death. “Did you see where Martha finally kicked it? I’m surprise she lasted that long with all her drinking. And - what were they thinking using that picture?! She hasn’t looked that good in 20 years”.

Isn’t that how it goes?

American culture has avoided death for so long that we’ve missed the meaningfulness in the process. Retiring, aging, and dying on my own terms is a beautiful thought to me. I want someone to write about that in my obituary. In fact, I’ll just go ahead and do it myself…

            On Thursday, I died in a peaceful way after a beautiful vigil. My friends
            and family camped out around me and we spent countless hours loving, laughing,
            and crying. Ironic that I’ve spent my life caring for the dying, yet I felt such
            apprehension for my own journey. I want to thank those who supported, helped,
            and loved me through my life and this process. Without you, I would not have
            known true love and compassion.

            During my living years, I spent a lot of time learning from my elders and caring for
            their needs and desires. I was afforded education, success, and a sense of purpose
            that most never have. I have witnessed true compassion for people and tried to
            refine my heart to give it.
           
            I’ve learned that there are worse things in this life than death. Death, to me, is the
            ability to lay down the sickness, suffering, and strife of this world. I’ve watched this
            happen time after time and questioned my own death narrative. I’ve stood witness
            to the powerful presence that takes over during death, and I’ve been convinced that
            God was in the room.

            I know this is hard. I can only ask that you allow yourself to feel more than the
            “spooky” stigmas. Be open to discussing your feelings and those of others. You might
            be the one thing that makes all the difference in someone else’s story.
           
           
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