My Obituary

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When she was young, she lived on her last dollar and books and dreams.
She worked as though her life depended on it.

She watched and smiled, said yes I’ll marry you.
She died and birthed her boy.

She played her heart on that piano and her husband heard
and loved her again.

She questioned, ate disbelief. She wept.
She prayed and prayed. She received.

She slow danced with ideas,

She was frail, a leaf the wind turned over, and
a rock you couldn’t move.

She sang blues and hymns and dreams.
She struggled to get off ground some days, and
wrote her way into clouds and drank their rain.

She asked God for one more day because she erred, wounded, and grieved.
She loved deeply. She didn’t love enough.

She hoped her life was enough.

 

Comments all yours if you’d like to write your own here.

200 thoughts on “My Obituary”

  3. There once was a young lady called Diana,
    who smoked the finest cigars from Havana.
    On the like button she did sit,
    to stop people pressing it,
    whilst maintaining an impeccable manner.

    Reply

  5. ‘She loved deeply, she didn’t love enough.’ This says so much. We aren’t born perfect, otherwise life would be boring. We’re here to learn life’s lessons. May your hope continue! ❤
    Lovely poem.

    Reply

  7. She lived as if creation and her were one, she loved as if it was her last day every day, she laughed at everything, even as her body blended into the light of God. She knew she was going home and she was grateful. Heart to Heart Robyn

    Reply

  9. There is so much here I find touching: your husband hearing your hert in your music, slow dancing with ideas, loving deeply and not enough. Beautiful–and I am struck by how our unique lives infuse and enrich each other.

    Reply

  13. Nobody else responded to your prompt. I like the limerick, though. Very nice. On your like button indeed.

    Three children, one exasperated husband and a gleaming house filled with stellar furniture
    An unpublished memoir on dysfunctional childhood’s impact on motherhood
    The silence that means her cackling hyena laugh will never be heard again
    No more chocolate chip cookies everyone loved even though they were Toll House’s recipe
    The internal evaluation of the quality of her work never shared, and now forever halted
    Weeds choking flowers she planted and taught no one else to care for
    That sight of a flitting hummingbird drawing her children to the window
    Their shared appreciation of its spontaneous appearance and beauty her only bequest

    Reply

  19. Sounds like a beautiful, full plate of a life so far Diana. I love the recognition of what you’ve been now as opposed to when someone else has to remember for you because it’s all done. xo

    Reply

    • “when someone else has to remember for you because it’s all done.”

      Many things are too late by then, aren’t they? I was inspired to step back and look at my life in the living and to encourage you guys to do the same.

      Thx for being here, dear D.

      Xxx

      Reply

  21. Reblogged this on HarsH ReaLiTy and commented:
    I am pretty sure my obituary would say “was arrested after death due to causing a disturbance from all the celebrations after hearing of his death.” -OM
    Note: Comments disabled here, please comment on their site.

    Reply

  24. It will either be incredibly ridiculous, or outrageously dramatic.

    Either way, I would like to write my own obituary:

    “Ugh, finally.

    “Kidding… Maybe.

    “I must say, that after all those years of depression, bipolar, aggression, and suicidal tendencies, who knew that I’d actually just die a natural death? In my worst moments I often begged for death, but when I slipped on the pavement I panicked for my life. I will hardly understand the phenomenon that occurs in depression/suicide patients like myself. We welcome death, we have no qualms with it, yet for many of us we cling to life in those possibilities it might be taken away unexpectedly. I cannot say whether I clinged in the end, or finally let go, knowing this was my end and I was content with all God had made for me. I suppose it’s the real test, you know? The test that points out if you’re really serious about leaving. Or maybe, just in those moments we simply can’t stand the thought that it wasn’t our control, it wasn’t our choice. Or maybe, like I felt often, it was like watching a good movie or show, or reading a book. Even though there were tragedies, we still wanted to play the next episode or turn the page. That was how I always saw my life. As often as I wanted to leave, I wanted to know what would happen next. My reasoning was simple; if we opt out now, we won’t ever know what would happen next. If we stay and something kills us, then what is there to complain about? Hmm. I always made decisions based on the “off-chance” of something happening. I always went the extra mile on the off-chance. I always kept trying to live based on the off-chance. As the Nanny once said, “You neva know.”
    “So if you want to kill yourself, what’s the point really? Stick around, and maybe somehow your wildest dreams will come true. And if they don’t, and you die anyway, what’s the problem? Seems like a win-win either way you look at it, based on your logic. I guess that’s why I never went all the way through with it, or something held me back. When contemplating suicide, contemplate living, too, because what do you have to lose when you’re life is at stake?”

    That’s what I’d like to say.

    Reply

    • “In my worst moments I often begged for death, but when I slipped on the pavement I panicked for my life.” I’ve thought about it this, have toyed with a post on the impulse to live we all have. Yes, the ironic longing even in folks with suicidal tendencies. I love this line from The Horse and His Boy, one of the books in the Chronicles of Narnia. A talking mare intercepts when her mistress is about to stab herself: “Do not by any means destroy yourself, for if you live you may yet have good fortune but all the dead are dead alike.”

      Thank you for sharing. Sounds like you wrote a post. Feel free to put it up on your blog.

      And I mention suicide and hope in the last paragraph, if it interests. You brought the post to mind:

      https://holisticwayfarer.com/2014/06/10/confessions-mismatching-socks-and-my-deepest-longing/

      Xx
      Diana

      Reply

  25. Ah! An obituary in poetry! Ambitious 😊. Okay…
    A woman wrote this poem for me as part of the fringe festival in Brisbane last year – I was sitting in a cafe on a weekend adventure alone, writing and drinking good coffee when she handed it to me. I have it framed n my room, and it may very well be my obituary:
    Thinking deeply on the run
    Putting ideas together and
    Having fun. Strengthening
    The imagination what will
    Be her creation?
    Satisfied as life goes by
    Does her best new things
    She’ll try – wonders what
    The future holds, determined
    To make change before
    She is old. Loves this life
    In its diversity
    Walking her journey
    Spirits to set free.
    💗

    Reply

      • Yes, I know, and I started writing it happily enough 🙂 I sat there, wrote a few lines, then out of my pen came the words from that poem…so I went with it :). Okay, what about this (10 minute poem)

        Following cycles
        Within and without
        Searching for beauty
        She found it, no doubt.
        She loved this life,
        Her family, her friends
        She broke herself open
        again and again.
        Earthy and real,
        Honest and fair
        She left a light burning
        Know that she cares.
        (So much)

  27. “She was frail, a leaf the wind turned over, and a rock you couldn’t move in her convictions.”

    Yes! A paradox for sure……perhaps our frailty motivates us to dig deep enough to find that rock.

    Beautiful, touching, enlightening and inspiring. Your gifts of reality, honesty, and hope always seem to come when I most need them. Thank you.

    Reply

  28. This was so lovely to read HW 😀
    You know what mine would say.
    ‘Believed that even idiots could find meaning in life. Could not live without dreaming that life was poetry and poetry was life. Battled the hypocrite within till her last breath…and never won by writing this!’ 😉
    Loved this!

    Reply

    • It actually doesn’t matter to Husband what she plays =) but he requests hymns. We’re a family of musicians who appreciate all the genres. =) She loves to groove like Ray Charles. When he’s mad, he complains it’s not fair that he melts and forgives her from her music. lol

      Reply

  33. That is an obituary I’d be happy to have. I love the way you bring in the contrasts of strength and frailty, dreams and hard work, questioning and acceptance. Obituaries can just be about what you did, this is about who you are. Wonderful.

    Reply

  35. He entered this world unsure and unknowing, bereft of robust self, swaddled and protected from the uncertainty surrounding him. He soon found ground and laughed openly, loved recklessly and found both simplicity and depth in a caterpillar or a ripe peach. He was also stung by the the very things that brought him joy. His sensitive nature was a double-edged sword, his mind became a cannibal, his spirit soared and then spun out in splayed, self-centered supplication.

    He focused on the clouds and saw not the sun they guarded. He didn’t splash in enough puddles. He put down the silly to not disturb the solemn. He settled in oneness to keep the peace. He found solace in the wrong places and things. Demons lashed out and he suffered greatly.

    And then the Earth shook for him. He placed his trust and life into the very being who graced him with that first soulful cry by taking a new breath of life. A second wind filled his lungs and soul.

    Paul learned to see with the eyes of a newbon once again. He gazed at life not as a puzzle to be solved or a procession to be endured but as a gift to be cherished. He unearthed sorrow and seeded hope. He ate too many sweets, he sang poorly and led when commanded. He commanded when led. He fed others and allowed them to feed him back. He synched into his orbit, and fell into his space.

    And when the time came, he cast a content and knowing smile when he left. He knew and lived and loved precisely what he was meant to know, live and love. He left a tapestry filled with bright colours, tempered patterns and weathered edges. Edges worn down by the feats of love and life.

    A tapestry to be swaddled in.

    Reply

    • “stung by the the very things that brought him joy” and that he fell into his space are among my favorites. Hope he showed this to his wife.

      He must also know one Holistic Wayfarer came to appreciate his courage, humility, and strength and celebrated his every triumph.

      Reply

      • Haven’t show it to wife. She’s too busy crafting my eulogy…ha ha.

        Thank you for the kindness in your words and spirit. What a fantastic post and dialogue here.

        Blessings
        Paul

  36. I like the play of opposites. I suppose that is what an obituary is: a testimony to the between – birth and death. I’m a bit conflicted by the idea of writing my own obituary, thinking that what others say about me says something that I cannot say. On the other hand, a self written obituary is something of a testimony to the me that others might not see. So, perhaps between the two is the real me, seen by One alone.

    Reply

  37. The King of Rock and Roll

    The murmurs rolling from the crowd
    Like waves upon the sea
    The multitudes are growing restless
    I know they wait for me
    Now the lights grow oh so dim
    The murmurs quickly silence
    A bright white spotlight finds my face
    I sneer in sheer defiance.
    This crowd is quickly hypnotized
    I have them in my hold
    They know it’s me, they’ve come to see
    The King of Rock and Roll.

    Embracing gently my guitar
    My fingers strum the strings
    And when I’m sure the time is right
    From deep inside I sing.
    At first I sing a sad song
    Then I sing a song of war
    Next I speak my mind a little while
    And now I sing a little more.
    They’ve paid out cash to watch me play
    I’ll never leave them cold.
    They’ll tell their friends I really am
    The King of Rock and Roll.

    Now my performance for this night
    Has finally reached its end
    Another night in another town
    I’ll do it all again.
    The last staunch fan has left the hall
    The band has gone their way
    The roadies end a job well done
    Each single one’s been paid.
    Myself, I head for my hotel.
    There’s an ache within my soul.
    Another night spent all alone…
    For the King of Rock and Roll.

    Not exactly an obituary, but I’m not exactly a poet. Sorry.

    Reply

  39. I love this! If I had to write one it would be hear lies MichelleMarie all her life she tried to measure up and felt like she fell short. Until the day she finally gave her life to God and asked Jesus into her heart that old self was dead. Thank God!
    I love this!
    BTW my daughter is doing so much better and eating mich better taking her probiotics and her stomach is starting to feel better! Thank you

    Reply

  43. ‘She hoped her life was enough’. Beautiful. And I get that. Sorry I didn’t get here until now Diana, my head is spinning, won’t go into lengthy explanations, also having horrible problems with my email server so getting my notifications late and messing me up. Frustration doesn’t even cut it right now. Grrrrr…. My blog post today explains a little more. Thanks for always thinking of me my friend. See you soon…hugs ❤

    Reply

  44. This was one of the hardest writing tasks. EVER. I think I should write up an obituary every year. Kind of like practice for the grand finale’. Loved the idea:)
    ******************************************************
    She hoped to be remembered for even a fleck of goodness present in her.

    She had simple thoughts, complicated aims. She dreamed of being a better person; of doing the greater good. She didn’t think she got far.

    She needed contentment, confidence, and freedom. She fought with herself for all those things. Some of the answers were in her head. Most were in her heart.

    She had passion. She had a voice. It remained muffled in her early years. It took on wings as she grew older. She felt more alive with every flutter, but at times, less content.

    She loved. But she could have loved more. She cried. But she could have cried less. She laughed. But she could have laughed a lot more. She hoped. She hoped plenty.

    She found God in the small things. That where HE smiled back. She had faith. A resolute star in her sky, that showed her she was getting there.

    She lived a life of love. Noting more. Nothing less. And for that, she was forever grateful.

    Reply

    • Many gems here, N. Thanks so much for the thought you put into this. (Think you should post it over at your place. 😉 )

      simple thoughts, complicated aims.
      Some of the answers were in her head. Most were in her heart.

      My fav:
      She cried. But she could have cried less. She laughed. But she could have laughed a lot more. She hoped. She hoped plenty.

      She found God in the small things. That where HE smiled back. She had faith. A resolute star in her sky, that showed her she was getting there.

      =========
      I have heard her
      voice.

      Reply

  46. This was really moving Diana. A life lived and dreamt. She ‘wrote into the clouds and drank the rain’, I love that line; a great summation of your passion. 🙂 ❤

    Reply

    • You’ve been with me a long time to be able to sum up my work, Deb.

      You’ve been amazing. Thank you for the loving feedback. I also know you don’t take obits lightly. I hope you’re back on track in that regard.

      Xxx
      D.

      Reply

  47. Pingback: My Obituary | on the road to inkrichment

  49. He was the class clown. He was less mature than his toddlers. He loved sports and fun and travel and run.
    He was sadly mauled by a pack of coyotes in the middle of an 18 mile run.
    He is survived by his loving family and minor celebrity friends.

    Reply

  50. She was the little girl you knew down the street,
    She loved so much everyone defined her as sweet
    But then he came into her life and made it dark
    Who would have known one relationship will hide her spark
    Now I’m all grown up with just memories of her
    She’s gone and all I can do is refer.

    My Obituary – hopefully its not too bad.

    Reply

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