I used to laugh at my Aunt Pat when she told me the first thing she looked at when our weekly hometown paper arrived in the mail was the obituaries.
When I took over the local radio station in Newland, up in the North Carolina mountains, one of the major draws in our noon news block was the daily obituaries.
I was thinking that my aunt and those of her generation had some kind of deep-seeded morbid side to them.
Now I get it.
As a 55-year old male, I’ve had guys I know drop dead out of the blue with a heart attack... former co-workers get taken in very short order by cancer.
My mortality is now staring me in the face.
These days when the Star News arrives, I admit to checking the obituary page.
It’s not the first thing I read but it comes right after the editorial page.
(Hmmm, there may be some kind of psychological symbiosis there.)
I look at the names and then the ages, always the ages.
My plan is to live a healthy life well into my 90’s.
I’ll bet God is getting a good laugh at that.
As I scan the obits, I breathe easier when I see that a devoted grandfather died at the age of 94 after living a full and rewarding life.
Then I read about his accomplishments.
What did he do with his long life?
My bottom line will be, is the world at all a better place for me having been here.
I’ll never measure up with a Mother Theresa or my own mother, but will I have done enough little good things for others over the years to add up to something?
While I hope many good things will reside quietly in the minds of those I know and love, your obituary is more or less your final public earthly accounting.
The page is becoming more and more interesting with each passing year.
By: Steve Rondinaro
The Dash
Your post reminds me of this poem:
The Dash
By Linda Ellis
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end.
He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke of the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own,
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard;
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect
And more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
I love the essay and the
I love the essay and the poem.