PUT A LIFETIME INTO WORDS

By Kasie Whitener

  

Jessica was working on the obituary when I arrived Saturday morning. She wouldn’t let me read it or help her wordsmith it at all. She complained it was just another thing to be done on the very long list she’d been working since her mother, Carol, died Monday.

I stayed in Tucson about 24 hours and when I left, I wanted to write. My fingers itched to express all I’d seen, to process how it all felt, to frame it with the right words ordered in the right way. I think I would have been a passionate obituary writer.

What obits say is relatively standard even for extraordinary people. Carol’s brothers and daughter had a tough time summarizing who she was into five paragraphs. And, really, who can blame them? She was clever and ambitious and decisive and direct. She loved to laugh and have a good time. The stories we told all weekend bore witness to her strength, endurance, faithfulness.

Carol was the working mother who had it all: a family who loved her, friends who adored her, a polished and admired career, and the love of her life at her side.

But it’s the subtext of the obituary that really matters. What does it mean to earn the love of your family and friends? It means you were loyal and kind, steadfast and reliable. How does one build a polished and admired career? With dedication, sacrifice, a growth mindset and a willingness to learn.

When do you realize you are on this journey with the love of your life? Tom and Carol would have been married 47 years this week. They were perfect golf partners, had a well-scripted morning routine (he grinds the beans, she makes the coffee), and shared space like two planets orbiting one another.

After a loved one’s death, we all stand united by that person’s influence and value in our lives. The obituary writer’s requirement is to capture that value. It’s such a challenging task that writing instructors sometimes assign it to students: Write your own obituary or write the obituary of one of your characters.

My novel about Brian-whose-best-friend-killed-himself required this exercise. What would Brian put in Tony’s obituary? How would he tell the story of his best friend, dead at 22?

There’s a part of me that wonders how we measure life journeys. Do we record how many miles she traveled, how much money she made, how many things she accumulated, how many people cared for her?

With her life’s ledger finished, the quantity swells but the quality surges back: Show me the love, the ease with which she navigated her life, those smiles and smirks, the pride, the duty, the honor, the loyalty, her own and that which she inspired in others.

It’s the final chapter, the one that summarizes the dash between the year of birth and the year of death. What would your obituary say about you?