By Linda Bourgeois, ph.D.:
Today I read the obituaries. No, I was not present in any column, however, there were many who were there. Mary. Bill. Tom. Alice. Jo Betty. Lillian. Zane. Henry.
Did they intend to be in this paper today? Were they prepared?
Did they have a wife or husband who will grieve their passing? sons? daughters? what was the sum of their being? Did they go peacefully? did they “settle” all their affairs?
The media always lets us know when celebrities die; those whom everyone knows but what about those whom everyone does not know?
Do we, like a town crier, stand at the corners of our neighborhoods and call out their names each Sunday?
Do we call a town hall meeting each month to extol what these members of society contributed on a local level or do we just stop our cars and wait patiently for the hearse to pass not knowing who is going to the final resting place here on earth?
We are all headed toward death each day but do we all die a little bit as we see the hearse pass? the friend die? the unknown soldiers die? reading the names in the paper?
Is having ones name in the paper all that is left unless you want to pay a huge sum to tell the story of your life? and can you really tell that story?
You, the person, lived that story and no one really, really knows what that story was; there are those who know Bits and Pieces; those who passed through your life for brief periods; those who stayed for awhile, yet no one has all the Bits and Pieces of your life cataloged in one place.Not on this earth plane.
Would we really want that? Would we want all to know the deepest part of our being? would we if we could, tell all there is to tell? would we truly reveal our most sacred self? our irritated self? our jealous self? our vengeful self? would we?
In all our lives there are endings and beginnings. I am experiencing the ending of three lives and the beginning of my grandsons life serving his Country. I hope his country…my country deserves him.
For all the things I did not know; for all the hours of trying to understand; for all those times that I wanted to be alone but he was here, they are days to remember and to know that they, too, served to bring a lesson to me about life which I had not learned.
When he reads my obituary, will he remember? what will my children remember? my friends? and you, my friends, in this world grown small by electronic devices portrayed in science fiction on so long ago, what will you remember?
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About Linda.
Linda loves writing.
