Yesterday, I read the obituaries. I don’t always read them, but they often draw my attention. If that’s weird, then I’m weird. There was this woman, her name was Lillian. My mother’s name. Just a coincidence I’m sure. The first line caught my attention, it read: My journey is over. I thought “Oh my, she wrote this herself!”. I continued to read about her life in her words, and how the “gift” of her terminal diagnosis had given her the time, however short, to reflect on her life and what she had learned. I read it aloud to my husband Randy, and of course was in tears by the end. What a courageous and beautiful soul to take the opportunity to write her own obituary! I was blown away and deeply impressed. From that moment I made a vow to do the same. Randy said that he read once that everyone should write their own obituary and continue to rewrite it for as long as they can. Good advice.
Lillian was given the unique chance to personally thank everyone that had touched her life and were special to her and her end of life journey. There were references to her Dr. and favorite nurses, her closest friends, family, even a sweet person who continuously put hearts on her lawn to cheer her up. What a gift! So many obituaries, nearly all that I’ve seen are written by someone left behind. I had the privilege and honor of writing my son Colton’s obituary. It was so very hard, but I wanted to get it just right, at least for the capacity that I had at the time. But now, after reading Lillian’s, I would probably in hindsight had written it a little differently. More personal.
I would have included more “Colton” facts, things that were unmistakably him. Like how much he loved roast beef and loaded mashed potato dinners at our house. How much fun and joy he got from being the lead vocal in a local death metal band where we lived and the strong bonds of friendship that he created, and that exist to this day. How that even in Hospice, he put a general message on FaceBook to anyone he went to school with to drop in and see him while he had time. He went to school from kindergarten through grade 12 in Prince George, BC. I was so happy that many, many of his friends and schoolmates took the time to drop by and visit and reminisce with him. He loved it. It was his chance to say goodbye. It was theirs too. I would have included that he loved winter more than summer because there were no bugs, and that he never missed an appointment. That he was a dedicated employee. That he cared deeply what people thought of him. That he changed bullies into friends. That he always gave 100%. That he persevered through adversity. That he had such uncompromising resilience. That he tilted his head back and did a silent laugh when he found something really, really funny. That he loved to make a crazy grin and do a hillbilly dance to make me laugh. That he was so loyal and true. That he was the light of my life and I could not have asked for a better son. That I am so grateful that he chose me to be his momma.
There is definitely a lesson here. My God, I’ve learned so very many lessons in the last 5 years. The lesson for today is this: Why give this final chance to say what only you can say, to someone else? Take the time, like Lillian did, to put into words what you want to be your lasting comment on your time here. Your time here is so very short. You’ve done your very best to make it count. To learn your lessons. To be a better person. To show love. (spoiler alert, it’s the only thing that really, truly matters while you’re here). So, before it’s too late, take some time to write down what you’d like everyone to know before you go…..and I promise that I will too. Sending much love to you all. Nancy.