If you want to, you can look for me in the evening sunset or with the earliest spring daffodils or amongst the flitting and fluttering butterflies. You know I’ll be there in one form or another. Of course that will probably comfort some while antagonizing others, but you know me…it’s what I do.
I’ll leave you with this…please don’t cry because I’m gone; instead be happy that I was here. (Or maybe you can cry a little bit. After all, I have passed away).
Today I am happy and I am dancing. Probably naked.
Love you forever.
These words were written by Emily Phillips on the occasion of her own death. She wrote her own obituary, and oh, did it get me!
(You can read the entire obituary here.)
What a lovely way to remember herself. I never met her, but I’m pretty sure I’d like her. She’s got a ballsy sense of humor and a really gorgeous way of seeing the world.
It’s the butterflies that strike me, though. Long story, maybe one I’ll tell another day, but butterflies symbolize good luck in my life. It’s why I want a butterfly tattoo. Yeah. Truth. I really do. I want a whole flutter of them going across my back.
Which, did you know, other words for groups of butterflies are a swarm, a rabble or a kaleidescope.
But I digress.
I posted a link to Emily’s obituary on Twitter, and David Cain of Raptitude, one of my favorite inspirational and philosophical writers, tweeted back that everyone should write his or her own obituary.
I agree entirely. What better excuse for both a writing prompt and a way for us to look at our lives, examine them from a point of view when we can no longer make amends or tell the truth to those we love.
So, your task for this prompt is to write your own obituary.
What are the last words by which you’d like the world to remember you?
I’ll go first.
As soon as I had the idea, I immediately delayed. It’s always a bit of a task to sit myself down to write, but it’s particularly daunting to write about ones own death. I did it quickly, like taking off a band aid. I didn’t edit much, either.
Behold, my obituary:
I’ve been putting off writing this, because, well, I guess I always procrastinate. Maybe it’s some kind of bad luck to write what you want to tell people after you die. I’m really not ready to die. Sleep more, yes, but death? No.
I don’t think I’m the type to come back to haunt people, but maybe, just maybe I could peek out from wherever I end up and see how you’re doing. Maybe I could be a butterfly, flitting about on warm days, drinking water from mud puddles in the sun, reminding you of me. Because you know how I love butterflies, how they calm me and let me know everything will be just fine.
When my death happens, I wish for it to be fast. I hope there won’t be much pain, and I want my family and friends to celebrate. I want them to dress up and have fun. They should cook my favorite foods and toast each other and laugh and wear shiny costumes with bells, because there is plenty of time to be sad. After a funeral or memorial, there are those quiet times when you can’t help but fall into a reverie and remember the hard things, the things that scare you and the things that make you cry.
But the day you remember me after my death must not be like that. Instead, hug each other and remember that in death, as in life, I only want happiness for you.
Your turn! What will you say to the people in your life when you’re gone?
Photo credit: Sarath Kuchi
