One time, after we lost a family member, my wife and I were talking about funerals, and she asked me who I’d want to give the eulogy at mine.
I jokingly said, “It doesn’t matter, I’m writing it myself, so they just have to read well.”
We laughed, but as with all humor, there was a touch of truth buried there.
I think most of us would probably like to write the story that people tell about us after we're gone.
Anyone who's ever had the task of crafting an obituary or eulogy for someone they love knows what a daunting task it is to try and succinctly summarize in a short collection of words a vast, sprawling, word-defying life; to capture in a few sentences or a few minutes a story that would take decades to properly retell.
In the wake of someone's passing, we who remain have the job of memorializing them, of preserving their legacy. We become the chief custodians of their memory. To a large degree, we, determine the parts of their lives that live on, which may or may not be what they intended to survive them.
This means, as much as we might like to believe we know precisely how we will be remembered after we're gone, we probably don't.
One day (hopefully a long time from now), we will all depart this place, and a few people who love us and who deeply grieve our loss will gather to write our obituary, to compose our eulogy, to immortalize us in a gathering of both those we'd have invited and, maybe a few we'd wish hadn't shown up.
People will speak and post on social media their funny, poignant anecdotes of their interactions with us, the things about us that will stick, and thus will begin our posthumous mythology, of which we will have no control. Our legacies will be largely out of our hands.
And since we can't write our obituaries or eulogize ourselves, and since we don’t get to choose what about our lives will outlive us, the best we can do is to leave the legacy we desire now, in this day, this moment, with this breath. Our choices define the mark we leave on people and this place.
We can live in such a way that the people around us know what matters to us, how we feel about them, and what we want our lives to say after we're gone. We can speak every word of kindness and truth within us, squeeze out every bit of passion and meaning we can, obey every wild, creative muse we hear calling us—and then rest in that. We can endeavor to be fully present in the moments as they come; to give our best to our children and partners and spouses and friends, and to strangers.
Years ago, I remember reading that singer and actor David Cassidy's final words upon leaving this life were, "So much wasted time."
We'll never know exactly what specific wastefulness he was referring to, but I imagine if you and I were to suddenly face our final moments right now, we'd all instantly realize where we've squandered daylight and procrastinated away living, what we've let slip through our fingers, how often we pissed away the priceless gifts of space and time and people we'd been blessed with.
The challenge and the invitation we have on this side of our obituaries is to write as clear and beautiful a story as we can and to trust that it is enough.
No, most of us won’t go to the effort of composing our memorials in writing, but we are able to live this day well, and to let that be the legacy we leave to those who will retell our stories.
Don't worry about your eulogy after you’re gone, friend.
Write it with your life today.
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