So, I'm dead.
I'm writing this prior to death, so I'm not sure what did me in, but I suspect it was something I wasn't worried about, something that wasn't even remotely on my radar.
That seems to be how life does you.
As people gather together to celebrate my life (or celebrate the fact that I'm dead...whatever), there are things I want you to know or remember about me.
1. I really liked socks, especially socks with pithy quotes or cuss words on them. I had very simple pleasures and socks were one of them.
Another simple pleasure was taking the first scoop out of a new jar of peanut butter.
2. I almost always tried to give my best in most everything I did, and I blame this tendency on my dad who instilled in me a solid work ethic and a personality trait that if 100% was good, then 118.96% was even better. And if you could get to 125.32%, strive for that. (Not that my mom was a slacker, but she knew when to take it down a notch; Dad was never good at that.)
3. I always abhorred sentimentality because I thought it was profoundly incomplete.
In the deepest recesses of my heart, when I thought about the people I love, when I thought about what mattered most to me, when I considered my purpose for being on earth, I felt a hole of excessive tenderness open up in the core of my being.
A hole so big and so overpowering it felt like it could easily consume me.
All the drivel about loving people to the moon and back would not fill up a thimbleful of this hole.
Nor would the "love you mores" and all the other mess of words that people stupidly tried to make mean what love is.
So as not to be reduced to a puddle of emotional morass, I could not go near that hole.
I avoided sentimentality because it does not do that hole justice.
4. People often said that I was so funny and so honest, but I wasn't honest enough in the ways that it counted the most.
I didn't stand up for what was right as much as I should have.
I didn't speak truth to power enough.
I probably should have told more people who I knew were full of shit that they were full of shit, that they were doing hurtful things.
5. If I ever came across as ornery, it was not because I was willingly being so; it was because I didn't feel comfortable doing what I was expected to do.
As you all sit here at my funeral, you may have known me but not my kids and not my husband. Maybe you only knew my mom and dad, and you would feel awkward saying something to my husband. You might say something to my husband just to be polite; I didn't do stuff like this just because politeness may have dictated it.
I did what I felt comfortable doing and what felt meaningful to me. I often stewed over it later and wondered whether everyone thought I was rude or weird; in the moment, though, I did what felt right and after a good talking to, I got my head screwed back on straight and said, "Eff you, uncomfortable politeness that definitely made me feel awkward and probably made the other person feel awkward, too." I was always, always more focused on meaning than on propriety.
6. I was pretty good about telling the people I loved that I loved them, but I would not tell people I didn't love that I loved them. Not even in that "I love ya" casual kind of way. If I didn't feel it in my heart, the words would not come out of my mouth or my fingertips. I loved very few people in a deep way. I liked and cared about a lot of people in general.
7. Even though I sometimes made myself the black sheep because I didn't feel comfortable doing certain things, I also really liked being the black sheep. I liked standing apart. I liked being the person with purple hair. I liked being the one who didn't bow her head to pray. I liked being the person who kept her name when other married women took their husbands' names. But that goes back to what was meaningful over what was proper or polite. I always knew I was listening to my own drumming beat.
8. Please don't drivel on about me being in the folds of Jesus' arms right now because I was never, ever all that sure about any of it. I did a piss-poor job being a Catholic or a Christian, but I tried my darndest to be a good person. To help old people in distress. To keep my mouth shut when nothing I had to say was helpful (except maybe on this blog). To talk to my kids openly and lovingly. To be a stable and reliable person that others could depend on. To enjoy the moment and be thankful for every good thing I had.
I don't know if I'm in heaven or hell or in a parallel dimension or just dead. I daresay you shouldn't spend too much time worrying about it.
9. There are things that, if I'm able to actually miss, I will miss. Among these things are
--having a kitty cat on my lap while I'm reading a book
--having M twiddle my ears
--seeing G enjoy a book I've convinced him to let me read to him and ask to read more
--hugs from N
--getting to hear D's occasional unintended hilarious statements that make me glad I married him despite the fact that he can't cook
--hot fudge
--seeing money save up in the bank
--discussing books with friends
--teaching students
--being outside in the woods
--watching the ocean waves come in
10. If you're sad now, you'll get over it. And if you don't get over it, go see a doctor and get some medicine to get over it. Everything changes. I got more used to that the older I got. A house that never changes is dead. A life that never changes is dead. A heart that never changes is dead. I'm now dead; you're not. So allow any sadness you feel to make way for happiness again.
I'm writing this prior to death, so I'm not sure what did me in, but I suspect it was something I wasn't worried about, something that wasn't even remotely on my radar.
That seems to be how life does you.
As people gather together to celebrate my life (or celebrate the fact that I'm dead...whatever), there are things I want you to know or remember about me.
1. I really liked socks, especially socks with pithy quotes or cuss words on them. I had very simple pleasures and socks were one of them.
Another simple pleasure was taking the first scoop out of a new jar of peanut butter.
2. I almost always tried to give my best in most everything I did, and I blame this tendency on my dad who instilled in me a solid work ethic and a personality trait that if 100% was good, then 118.96% was even better. And if you could get to 125.32%, strive for that. (Not that my mom was a slacker, but she knew when to take it down a notch; Dad was never good at that.)
3. I always abhorred sentimentality because I thought it was profoundly incomplete.
In the deepest recesses of my heart, when I thought about the people I love, when I thought about what mattered most to me, when I considered my purpose for being on earth, I felt a hole of excessive tenderness open up in the core of my being.
A hole so big and so overpowering it felt like it could easily consume me.
All the drivel about loving people to the moon and back would not fill up a thimbleful of this hole.
Nor would the "love you mores" and all the other mess of words that people stupidly tried to make mean what love is.
So as not to be reduced to a puddle of emotional morass, I could not go near that hole.
I avoided sentimentality because it does not do that hole justice.
4. People often said that I was so funny and so honest, but I wasn't honest enough in the ways that it counted the most.
I didn't stand up for what was right as much as I should have.
I didn't speak truth to power enough.
I probably should have told more people who I knew were full of shit that they were full of shit, that they were doing hurtful things.
5. If I ever came across as ornery, it was not because I was willingly being so; it was because I didn't feel comfortable doing what I was expected to do.
As you all sit here at my funeral, you may have known me but not my kids and not my husband. Maybe you only knew my mom and dad, and you would feel awkward saying something to my husband. You might say something to my husband just to be polite; I didn't do stuff like this just because politeness may have dictated it.
I did what I felt comfortable doing and what felt meaningful to me. I often stewed over it later and wondered whether everyone thought I was rude or weird; in the moment, though, I did what felt right and after a good talking to, I got my head screwed back on straight and said, "Eff you, uncomfortable politeness that definitely made me feel awkward and probably made the other person feel awkward, too." I was always, always more focused on meaning than on propriety.
6. I was pretty good about telling the people I loved that I loved them, but I would not tell people I didn't love that I loved them. Not even in that "I love ya" casual kind of way. If I didn't feel it in my heart, the words would not come out of my mouth or my fingertips. I loved very few people in a deep way. I liked and cared about a lot of people in general.
7. Even though I sometimes made myself the black sheep because I didn't feel comfortable doing certain things, I also really liked being the black sheep. I liked standing apart. I liked being the person with purple hair. I liked being the one who didn't bow her head to pray. I liked being the person who kept her name when other married women took their husbands' names. But that goes back to what was meaningful over what was proper or polite. I always knew I was listening to my own drumming beat.
8. Please don't drivel on about me being in the folds of Jesus' arms right now because I was never, ever all that sure about any of it. I did a piss-poor job being a Catholic or a Christian, but I tried my darndest to be a good person. To help old people in distress. To keep my mouth shut when nothing I had to say was helpful (except maybe on this blog). To talk to my kids openly and lovingly. To be a stable and reliable person that others could depend on. To enjoy the moment and be thankful for every good thing I had.
I don't know if I'm in heaven or hell or in a parallel dimension or just dead. I daresay you shouldn't spend too much time worrying about it.
9. There are things that, if I'm able to actually miss, I will miss. Among these things are
--having a kitty cat on my lap while I'm reading a book
--having M twiddle my ears
--seeing G enjoy a book I've convinced him to let me read to him and ask to read more
--hugs from N
--getting to hear D's occasional unintended hilarious statements that make me glad I married him despite the fact that he can't cook
--hot fudge
--seeing money save up in the bank
--discussing books with friends
--teaching students
--being outside in the woods
--watching the ocean waves come in
10. If you're sad now, you'll get over it. And if you don't get over it, go see a doctor and get some medicine to get over it. Everything changes. I got more used to that the older I got. A house that never changes is dead. A life that never changes is dead. A heart that never changes is dead. I'm now dead; you're not. So allow any sadness you feel to make way for happiness again.
No comments:
Post a Comment