I've been asked to write an obituary this weekend, where I have to meet with the individual late Saturday afternoon and hash out a memorial tribute to their life. Call it a pre-need arrangement. I don't want to do it, but how on earth do I get out of something like this, other than leaving the earth myself? "Gee...I'd really love to help you, but $4 Happy Hour awaits?"
I know in the Washington Post the first thing listed under the name of the deceased is their occupation, regardless of how long ago it was that they held the position. Personally, I hate this practice, and I wish the Post would drop it. I've often thought people should cite things like "Drove Wife Crazy," or "Golf Handicap: Broke 80," or "Size 16EE Shoe," or "Free Farter." What do they do in the rural Midwest? "Cletis Robleski: Pig Farmer?"
The person I have to write this for hasn't treated me well in recent years, and I find it bizzare that I am given this request. I know I will do the proper thing, and I will go over their life with them, and I will let them dictate the flow of the eulogy as I write and edit. I won't put down what I'm thinking, or feeling, but I wish that this weekend I could rest in peace.
4 comments:
I want to make my self-eulogy arrangements now...
Song to play as they're carting me out: Blood, Sweat, and Tears', "And When I Die"
Whatever is said just make it balanced -- I do NOT believe in NOT speaking ill of the dead...I was human with human frailties and foibles. Tell it like it is but please remember to tell the people that I enjoyed the music of Perry Como, ABBA, Pat Benatar, Blondie, Clannad, Enya. He liked movies like the Alien series, Die Hards, Shawshank Redemption, Searching For Bobby Fischer, Breaking Away, Thin Man Series, Long Kiss Goodnight, Con-Air, Shaolin Soccer, Pootie-Tang.
And tho it may not have seemed that way from time to time he loved his wife with all his heart and would die for her but wouldn't vacuum the carpets.
"Thank you all for coming and don't forget to tip the wait-staff!"
T-Squared
I have one girlfriend who jokes that when she dies, she wants all of her costume jewelery pinned to the inside lid of her coffin, and she wants her friends to each take a piece. She also wants a cocktail party in the funeral home.
Let no man write my epitaph, so ask not for whom the bell tolls, but I coulda used a little more cow bell.
You've been given some tough duty, Cube. I agree with you -- be honest, but with a patina of patience.
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