DAY 4: Write my obituary

It used to be that obits were free and written by journalists. They included basics about your family, schooling, career path, contributions to your community.

Now most are sent in by family members who can’t write very well and focus on obscure highlights: “She was devoted to her beloved dachshund, Dinky, with whom she shared so many joyous years.”

Obits are more than just a formality. They are one of the few written records of your time here. The collective memory of a person’s existence fades quickly; after a generation or two you’re wiped off the face of the earth.

If I had planned better, and died later, I might have written it myself. But obviously I ran out of time. So get together with the people who knew me best, talk for a while, and realize how little you actually know about my life.

What NOT to include

“She moved to Florida in 1987, to Funkville in 1993, to Cleveland in 1995, then shacked up with a man she later regretted even knowing, before settling in Tacoma.”

I can’t even remember all the places I’ve lived, and it doesn’t need to be part of the permanent record.

“She loved crossword puzzles and [endless list of boring hobbies].”

Nobody but my immediate family needs to know that I made mosaic tile flower pots, played piano badly, bought season tickets but only saw two plays a year, or cooked with the same six ingredients for the past twenty-five years.

“She died peacefully with her loving family at her side.”

I don’t think it’s possible that everyone dies peacefully. I’m guessing some people die screaming. Everyone should have access to their own gallon of morphine at the first sign of pain.

“She shared her wisdom, love, and light with everyone she met.”

Oh, come on. Let’s be honest. Plus I’m pretty sure there’s a traffic cop near my office who would disagree.