Sari, about your "future" in this sentence: "In her later years she founded Oldster Manor, a non-profit senior residence for childless elders with no one to care for them in their dotage." There actually is such a place I learned about only when a person I knew forty years ago recognized herself in a piece of fiction I wrote and published on Substack. We had a wonderful two-hour catchup. "Nobody's ever written about me," she said. Pilgrim Place has been around for about eighty years, and it's amazing.
And by the way, my friend who lives at Pilgrim Place with her wife is a musician and composer, still active! In her working life, she was the accompanist for a ballet school that is part of a well-known art academy. Since moving to Pilgrim House, she composes music, directs a youth choir, and advocates for music education in the local Spanish-speaking community. She's in her eighties.
I was going to wait to read this later but I got hooked immediately. Sari, love your eulogy so much. Yes, yes, yes to the national interview tour. DO IT. And please, yes, to the Oldster Manor. Can I be first on the waiting list? (I looked up Pilgrim Place per one of the comments. It's in California...I don't see myself leaving the East Coast.)
Love Karen's piece, just ordered her book. I'll work on writing down my eulogy, but in some ways, gotta say, after 70, and after the death of both parents, that mindset has shoved itself into my consciousness anyway. I can avoid it skillfully but when I allow it in, "mortality awareness" is absolutely motivating. I don't waste time with continually angst-ridden relationships; I'm more direct with expressing my true feelings, positive or negative; I savor deep connections with authentic people (and kitties); I'm self-publishing my micro-memoir book because I don't want to wait a year or two to "someday" have someone else publish it.
One thing writing down my eulogy and rereading it might help with is: "At almost 72, she finally stopped watching Instagram Reels and Shark Tank reruns and joined a gym, where she took strength training and movement classes, made good friends, and stayed healthy and mobile until the very end." (Commencing research now...)
I'm with you! I'm researching nearby gyms at this very moment, thanks to your post. I have a new health insurance plan with some free memberships for seniors (see? there are benefits to aging!). Thanks for the kick!
Thank you so much for reading & for ordering the book.... that really means a lot. Love what you wrote about letting mortality awareness in (instead of avoiding it)....Cheering you on with the micro-memoir and gym/movement, etc... 💛
Thanks, Karen! Looking forward to reading your work. How did I not know about it? My peers and I talk (and write in our writing groups) about this stuff all the time. Bravo!
When I open the paper the morning after I’m dead, I’d better not read “She died after a courageous battle “with anything..I swear I’ll come back to erase it myself. And I do not want to see any list of organizations and boards or, God forbid, hobbies in there either, as if I needed to prove that I was productive in my time here on earth.
Skip the credentials list, if you can. Anyone who bothers to read the notice of my death will probably know the labels that matter to them, and reading what you missed after someone’s gone just makes you feel bad anyway, like someone telling you about a great sale after it is over
I know you have to list the relatives, but try to avoid making it look like a pedigree, proof that my papers are in order and my lineage, backwards and forwards, passes muster.
What’s left, you ask? What record of my life can stand as summary, and speak with force about who is gone? Tell them this.
Three times in her life she got to launch a soul. The first came silently, eyes open, heart already full of ageless wisdom and fearless integrity. She tucked his head under her chin, and let him listen to her heartbeat until it was his time to speak.
The second arrived full throated, muse installed, compass set. She held him facing outward, stooped to clear the branches in his path, and silenced those who did not understand.
The third, a nightingale, wore her heart exposed, and let it beat in time with anyone who came in close. She surrounded this one, encased her with her skin, until that heart’s own rhythm was secure... then bowed and waited for her song to be fulfilled.
Be sure to say with each she failed... held on too tight ... stepped back too soon. It matters not how, but only that despite her soul’s intent, she failed. For in that failure’s kiln they came to know their own wisdom, and the strength of her love.
Say that in her work she listened well. That those who shared their lives were heard and even when she had no wisdom, they felt her presence and its respect. For truly, she was in awe of them.
Speak of words, and how, a few times, she wrote something worth keeping, a note that touched the heart or spoke of thanks, or laid the truth in garlands because it should be honored. Say that she was proud of this.
One last thing. Say that she was grateful beyond measure to those few who knew her guarded woundedness, and loved her anyway. Yes, say that. And nothing more.
For that, my friends, I will take with me, and, on bended knee, present to the gods.
I have, for the past few days, been writing my own obitiuary. My birthday is on the 4th and I will turn 62, officially senior citizen age, what the actual fuck. I had been meaning to do this for a few years now because I've been given the task of writing obituaries for others and that meant someone else was deciding what was important about, say, my incredibly badass auntie who kept a baseball bat under the bar she tended in the Village in the 60s in case of shenanigans. She loved to tell that story, but her obit committee didn't want it in the final version. We gotta own this shit. I'm both annoyed that this topic hit Oldster before I hit publish and am also totally stoked that it's up for discussion. I'll come back and post mine in a few days. Thanks for this.
Thanks... happy pre-birthday! ... and... your auntie deserved that detail. That’s exactly why we need to tell our own stories. Look forward to reading your eulogy here.
Thanks for this post. Your story reminded me of a poem Jane Hirshfield recently discussed. https://poets.org/poem/it-was-you-were-happy on a podcast. The bit in the poem "It doesn’t matter what they will make of you or your days: they will be wrong, they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man, all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention." is so true. We share little bits, little secrets, as she put it, with different people, and they with us. I am hoping that's enough as I enter the year I turn 60!
After many, many decades of people pleasing and nice-ness, Annie stopped compromising her deepest desires. She unflinchingly re-prioritised her energy, she pivoted away from external accomplishments as gold standard and powerfully shifted into embodying her premise of ‘I create the whole of my reality, with truth, love and wisdom always’. She remained a high achiever of course, yet it was never expected that she could achieve THAT.
Peggy died, just before her 80th birthday, from a massive stroke, just like her father, a man whose esteem she craved all her life. Turns out this father-love, imagined or real, was the reason Peggy adored men and had so many male friends as well as four beloved brothers and two husbands. Or maybe it was just penis envy. Her poor dad and his mother before him both felt misunderstood throughout their lives and each wrote their own eulogies to set the story straight, to control, at long last, the narrative. Peggy, on the other hand, wrote one book, a memoir, published when she was in her seventies. Then she let it go, leaving it up to others to connect with her narrative. At age seventy-five Peggy wrote an aspirational eulogy prompted by her favorite sixty-year-old, Sari Botton, and her buddy Karen Salmansohn. During her long productive life, Peggy discovered one day at work that everything we do can be broken down into either tasks or relationships. "Oh my God!" she intoned. "I've been so busy with the tasks I've ignored the relationships." Slowly, one relationship at a time, Peggy set out to nurture and repair the only thing that matters in the end, our connection to other people, before our separation from this earth separates us forever from others. She started with her own children. You'd think that would be so easy. But no, our children desperately want and need our approval and love, and then they need us to get out of the way. Peggy died just before her eightieth birthday having loved unconditionally, forgiven everyone including her narcissistic father, and gave the greatest gift of all: she got out of the way.
@Sari I need to find that documentary, since I just recorded two songs for the new book (and overcoming embarrassment never quite happened) and what a delight to find Karen Salmansohn here - I remember Karen from Emerson College. (Hi, Karen!) As always, Oldster is a thrill.
@sari I bet you could crowdfund your doc from this community and friends. Eulogy Sari already did it and it was well received at TriBeCa, PSIFF, SBIFF and others 🎥🎬📽️🍿
Hi, Jessica! Emerson?! Wow, that really is a small world. And singing on your book is awesome. So glad to cross paths again here. Will check out your Substack to catch up on what's new with you since Emerson!
I neither need nor want a eulogy, however: I realized reading this delightful piece ❤️ all there is to say is that I set out hoping to be, from my youth, chill and non-reactive. The dawning realization of my deep emotional intensity + the truth that I mostly get what I wish for…my god what have I done. 😂 This round is Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and I not only asked for it, I have chased it arduously. My grandmother used to say there will be plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead, and I hope she was right because I’m exhausted. Thank you, Sari. I am so tickled.
I loved Mr Toad’s Wild Ride, especially because it was the one where we used all the cheap Disney ride tickets up at the end of the day 🎉🤣 Here’s to your Wild Ride 😊
Lesliee Antonette was a proud teen mother who somehow managed to earn her Ph.D. in English because she thought she needed it to become a "good" writer. She taught writing for 17 years before she was knocked down by an auto immune disorder that took her out of the classroom, which is where she loved to be. She built her own home with her own hands and those of a bygone husband. She dedicated her life to service-volunteering anywhere that would have her. Between those obligations and debilitating depression, she never finished the book, story, poem she felt would be her contribution to the world of stories that she loved so much. This is it.
My UU church in Fort Collins offers a course called “Plan Your Own Memorial Service” (the playlist was my favorite part) and “Mindful Endings,” which I wrote about for The Oldster. [https://open.substack.com/pub/oldster/p/the-season-of-farewell?r=4g2k&utm_medium=ios]. Such a relief to look mortality in the eye and not blink or look away! As for my obit, I’m not clever enough to write it yet, because my life is still so surprising to me. Who the hell knows what will happen in my final 7,000 days? Not me! But I hope they’ll be funny, at least, because that’s my main source material as a cartoonist.
Although I haven’t written a formal self-eulogy, I have written “Things I’d Like Said at my Funeral.” I guess it’s kind of a eulogy. In it are a couple of limericks (I like to write limericks), my favorite death jokes (including one that a study once called the funniest joke ever), and a few quotes and poems. Although it does not directly reflect my rest-of-life aspirations, it does reflect who I am, which I find informs who I want to be, and so helps me clarify my years left.
Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn't seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps, "My friend is dead! What can I do?" The operator says, "Calm down. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead." There is a silence; then a gun shot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says, "OK, now what?"
Our beloved Stan Boreson told this joke every year at Scandinavian Seafood Fest and it was always funny:
Two old miners in Alaska woke up one frosty morning to find that their dog was dead and frozen stiff. Because the dog was such a good boy, they realized they needed to have a proper burial. However neither one had any religious training. The grave was dug and finally one stood up and began “In the name of The Father, The Son and In-the-hole-he goes”.
Stan’s last DVD (60 years after having a hilarious kids TV show) has a long song titled “Yew joost don’t look goot nakid, anymore”. Sidesplitting.
Thanks Sari for this. I too have written my eulogy.I gave it to my neice who would be the one to read it at my funeral. Her reply, after reading it, was "There are so many more wonderful things that you have done in love for others. I sure do wish I could attend to hear in person about myself. Fondly, Michael
Did a training two years ago through a Buddhist retreat center near where I live titled "One Year to Live" based on the book by Stephen Levine. Big group once-a-month (Zoom) small group once-a-month (in person). We contemplated death, wrote our own obituaries, did life reviews, etc. I had written my own obit long before, and tweak it every now and then while letting my daughters know that they can write whatever they damn well please when I'm gone. Love Karen's book and bought it not only for myself but for both daughters. Think about death every day and like Jane Goodall said (before she died) I believe that death is the next great adventure! At 87 my bucket list ain't very long, and although there was a time in my life when I thought my destiny was to die destitute in the gutter a homeless drunk, I managed to change trajectory and thwart that prediction, got sober 44 years ago, and now feel I can give my life five stars. Have accomplished far more than I ever dreamed I would or could.
I really appreciate this: “I believe that death is the next great adventure! ”
Most of my life I have seen it as lights out - show is over…
Perhaps not?
But seeing the incredible regenerative power of nature, the return of life to the blast zones of Mt. St. Helens and even the horrific wildfire acreage from a year ago is challenging that. We are part of this nature, so part of the cycle.
I can’t recall the source, but I read that Steve Jobs’ last words were “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow!” It’s really shifted my perspective. The Final Frontier’
Being awake but medicated by hypnotics for two cataract surgeries was incredible! It was like going ‘down that lighted tunnel’ but in color. Not something I ever expect to experience again.
Song from my youth is echoing now- “don’t fear the reaper”. Hope I can build upon this nascent acceptance!
The mirror doesn’t lie about the mandatory march to one’s last exit. I’d like to believe I have a say in when/how (make god laugh) but I’m so clumsy and occasionally foolhardy, that’s a lousy bet.
Rev. Dwight Lee Wolter done what he could. The End.
Love it.
Thanks. “Known for his brevity” would have been a lie.
Short and to the point!
Amen. 🙏🏻🙏🏾🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏
Sari, about your "future" in this sentence: "In her later years she founded Oldster Manor, a non-profit senior residence for childless elders with no one to care for them in their dotage." There actually is such a place I learned about only when a person I knew forty years ago recognized herself in a piece of fiction I wrote and published on Substack. We had a wonderful two-hour catchup. "Nobody's ever written about me," she said. Pilgrim Place has been around for about eighty years, and it's amazing.
I’ll look it up!
And by the way, my friend who lives at Pilgrim Place with her wife is a musician and composer, still active! In her working life, she was the accompanist for a ballet school that is part of a well-known art academy. Since moving to Pilgrim House, she composes music, directs a youth choir, and advocates for music education in the local Spanish-speaking community. She's in her eighties.
Oh wow.... thank you for this. Pilgrim Place sounds amazing. I love knowing this kind of place already exists in the world.
I was going to wait to read this later but I got hooked immediately. Sari, love your eulogy so much. Yes, yes, yes to the national interview tour. DO IT. And please, yes, to the Oldster Manor. Can I be first on the waiting list? (I looked up Pilgrim Place per one of the comments. It's in California...I don't see myself leaving the East Coast.)
Love Karen's piece, just ordered her book. I'll work on writing down my eulogy, but in some ways, gotta say, after 70, and after the death of both parents, that mindset has shoved itself into my consciousness anyway. I can avoid it skillfully but when I allow it in, "mortality awareness" is absolutely motivating. I don't waste time with continually angst-ridden relationships; I'm more direct with expressing my true feelings, positive or negative; I savor deep connections with authentic people (and kitties); I'm self-publishing my micro-memoir book because I don't want to wait a year or two to "someday" have someone else publish it.
One thing writing down my eulogy and rereading it might help with is: "At almost 72, she finally stopped watching Instagram Reels and Shark Tank reruns and joined a gym, where she took strength training and movement classes, made good friends, and stayed healthy and mobile until the very end." (Commencing research now...)
I love all of this, Deborah. PS I need to start moving my body again…
I'm with you! I'm researching nearby gyms at this very moment, thanks to your post. I have a new health insurance plan with some free memberships for seniors (see? there are benefits to aging!). Thanks for the kick!
Thank you so much for reading & for ordering the book.... that really means a lot. Love what you wrote about letting mortality awareness in (instead of avoiding it)....Cheering you on with the micro-memoir and gym/movement, etc... 💛
Thanks, Karen! Looking forward to reading your work. How did I not know about it? My peers and I talk (and write in our writing groups) about this stuff all the time. Bravo!
I wrote this in 2010.. it still feels right.
Notes on my obituary
When I open the paper the morning after I’m dead, I’d better not read “She died after a courageous battle “with anything..I swear I’ll come back to erase it myself. And I do not want to see any list of organizations and boards or, God forbid, hobbies in there either, as if I needed to prove that I was productive in my time here on earth.
Skip the credentials list, if you can. Anyone who bothers to read the notice of my death will probably know the labels that matter to them, and reading what you missed after someone’s gone just makes you feel bad anyway, like someone telling you about a great sale after it is over
I know you have to list the relatives, but try to avoid making it look like a pedigree, proof that my papers are in order and my lineage, backwards and forwards, passes muster.
What’s left, you ask? What record of my life can stand as summary, and speak with force about who is gone? Tell them this.
Three times in her life she got to launch a soul. The first came silently, eyes open, heart already full of ageless wisdom and fearless integrity. She tucked his head under her chin, and let him listen to her heartbeat until it was his time to speak.
The second arrived full throated, muse installed, compass set. She held him facing outward, stooped to clear the branches in his path, and silenced those who did not understand.
The third, a nightingale, wore her heart exposed, and let it beat in time with anyone who came in close. She surrounded this one, encased her with her skin, until that heart’s own rhythm was secure... then bowed and waited for her song to be fulfilled.
Be sure to say with each she failed... held on too tight ... stepped back too soon. It matters not how, but only that despite her soul’s intent, she failed. For in that failure’s kiln they came to know their own wisdom, and the strength of her love.
Say that in her work she listened well. That those who shared their lives were heard and even when she had no wisdom, they felt her presence and its respect. For truly, she was in awe of them.
Speak of words, and how, a few times, she wrote something worth keeping, a note that touched the heart or spoke of thanks, or laid the truth in garlands because it should be honored. Say that she was proud of this.
One last thing. Say that she was grateful beyond measure to those few who knew her guarded woundedness, and loved her anyway. Yes, say that. And nothing more.
For that, my friends, I will take with me, and, on bended knee, present to the gods.
Beautiful. Thank you for sharing it.
My dear friend Nuala O’Connor suggested I send it your was. Glad you like it.
Mary ... this is deeply moving & beautifully said. Thank you for sharing it here. 💛
I have, for the past few days, been writing my own obitiuary. My birthday is on the 4th and I will turn 62, officially senior citizen age, what the actual fuck. I had been meaning to do this for a few years now because I've been given the task of writing obituaries for others and that meant someone else was deciding what was important about, say, my incredibly badass auntie who kept a baseball bat under the bar she tended in the Village in the 60s in case of shenanigans. She loved to tell that story, but her obit committee didn't want it in the final version. We gotta own this shit. I'm both annoyed that this topic hit Oldster before I hit publish and am also totally stoked that it's up for discussion. I'll come back and post mine in a few days. Thanks for this.
Great minds! And I wish I knew your badass auntie. Bummer they wouldn’t keep in that detail! I look forward to reading yours when you post it, Pam.
Thanks... happy pre-birthday! ... and... your auntie deserved that detail. That’s exactly why we need to tell our own stories. Look forward to reading your eulogy here.
Thanks for this post. Your story reminded me of a poem Jane Hirshfield recently discussed. https://poets.org/poem/it-was-you-were-happy on a podcast. The bit in the poem "It doesn’t matter what they will make of you or your days: they will be wrong, they will miss the wrong woman, miss the wrong man, all the stories they tell will be tales of their own invention." is so true. We share little bits, little secrets, as she put it, with different people, and they with us. I am hoping that's enough as I enter the year I turn 60!
After many, many decades of people pleasing and nice-ness, Annie stopped compromising her deepest desires. She unflinchingly re-prioritised her energy, she pivoted away from external accomplishments as gold standard and powerfully shifted into embodying her premise of ‘I create the whole of my reality, with truth, love and wisdom always’. She remained a high achiever of course, yet it was never expected that she could achieve THAT.
Annie,I LOVE this. Cheering you on!
Go, Annie!
Peggy died, just before her 80th birthday, from a massive stroke, just like her father, a man whose esteem she craved all her life. Turns out this father-love, imagined or real, was the reason Peggy adored men and had so many male friends as well as four beloved brothers and two husbands. Or maybe it was just penis envy. Her poor dad and his mother before him both felt misunderstood throughout their lives and each wrote their own eulogies to set the story straight, to control, at long last, the narrative. Peggy, on the other hand, wrote one book, a memoir, published when she was in her seventies. Then she let it go, leaving it up to others to connect with her narrative. At age seventy-five Peggy wrote an aspirational eulogy prompted by her favorite sixty-year-old, Sari Botton, and her buddy Karen Salmansohn. During her long productive life, Peggy discovered one day at work that everything we do can be broken down into either tasks or relationships. "Oh my God!" she intoned. "I've been so busy with the tasks I've ignored the relationships." Slowly, one relationship at a time, Peggy set out to nurture and repair the only thing that matters in the end, our connection to other people, before our separation from this earth separates us forever from others. She started with her own children. You'd think that would be so easy. But no, our children desperately want and need our approval and love, and then they need us to get out of the way. Peggy died just before her eightieth birthday having loved unconditionally, forgiven everyone including her narcissistic father, and gave the greatest gift of all: she got out of the way.
Peggy - love this -raw and real - thank you for sharing this.
Where do I put in my deposit for Oldster Manor? Love all of these. xx
Same 😂 Put me on the list too. xo
I look forward to being co-residents! xo
ha!!! Me too.
@Sari I need to find that documentary, since I just recorded two songs for the new book (and overcoming embarrassment never quite happened) and what a delight to find Karen Salmansohn here - I remember Karen from Emerson College. (Hi, Karen!) As always, Oldster is a thrill.
Small world! And I love that you sang on your ebook! One day I will make that doc!
@sari I bet you could crowdfund your doc from this community and friends. Eulogy Sari already did it and it was well received at TriBeCa, PSIFF, SBIFF and others 🎥🎬📽️🍿
Ha! You might be right...
Hi, Jessica! Emerson?! Wow, that really is a small world. And singing on your book is awesome. So glad to cross paths again here. Will check out your Substack to catch up on what's new with you since Emerson!
Another Emerson College grad who loved this post!
hello fellow emerson college grad! what year? DM me! Love meeting fellow Emerson people!
Emerson '82. Or '81, depending on who you ask. :)
I neither need nor want a eulogy, however: I realized reading this delightful piece ❤️ all there is to say is that I set out hoping to be, from my youth, chill and non-reactive. The dawning realization of my deep emotional intensity + the truth that I mostly get what I wish for…my god what have I done. 😂 This round is Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and I not only asked for it, I have chased it arduously. My grandmother used to say there will be plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead, and I hope she was right because I’m exhausted. Thank you, Sari. I am so tickled.
Thank you... and love what you wrote... smiled all the way through this! ❤️
Love this. 💕
I loved Mr Toad’s Wild Ride, especially because it was the one where we used all the cheap Disney ride tickets up at the end of the day 🎉🤣 Here’s to your Wild Ride 😊
What would eulogy me do? Love everything about this piece!
Thank you! I use that question a lot & it really does help to nudge me in the right direction.
Lesliee Antonette was a proud teen mother who somehow managed to earn her Ph.D. in English because she thought she needed it to become a "good" writer. She taught writing for 17 years before she was knocked down by an auto immune disorder that took her out of the classroom, which is where she loved to be. She built her own home with her own hands and those of a bygone husband. She dedicated her life to service-volunteering anywhere that would have her. Between those obligations and debilitating depression, she never finished the book, story, poem she felt would be her contribution to the world of stories that she loved so much. This is it.
Sending you love, Lesliee. Thank you for sharing this. ❤️
<3
My UU church in Fort Collins offers a course called “Plan Your Own Memorial Service” (the playlist was my favorite part) and “Mindful Endings,” which I wrote about for The Oldster. [https://open.substack.com/pub/oldster/p/the-season-of-farewell?r=4g2k&utm_medium=ios]. Such a relief to look mortality in the eye and not blink or look away! As for my obit, I’m not clever enough to write it yet, because my life is still so surprising to me. Who the hell knows what will happen in my final 7,000 days? Not me! But I hope they’ll be funny, at least, because that’s my main source material as a cartoonist.
Love this.... and yes, looking mortality in the eye is a relief. 🙌
Although I haven’t written a formal self-eulogy, I have written “Things I’d Like Said at my Funeral.” I guess it’s kind of a eulogy. In it are a couple of limericks (I like to write limericks), my favorite death jokes (including one that a study once called the funniest joke ever), and a few quotes and poems. Although it does not directly reflect my rest-of-life aspirations, it does reflect who I am, which I find informs who I want to be, and so helps me clarify my years left.
Nice.
Limericks + funeral notes = love this!
We’re going to need that ‘ funniest joke ever’, pretty soon please.
Breaking news on the late late night show is beyond horrific.
“It’s always the old who go to war and always the young who die.”☮️
Sure! From https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World's_funniest_joke:
Two hunters are out in the woods when one of them collapses. He doesn't seem to be breathing and his eyes are glazed. The other guy whips out his phone and calls the emergency services. He gasps, "My friend is dead! What can I do?" The operator says, "Calm down. I can help. First, let's make sure he's dead." There is a silence; then a gun shot is heard. Back on the phone, the guy says, "OK, now what?"
HA HA HA!!! 😘
The woods are frequently funny.
Our beloved Stan Boreson told this joke every year at Scandinavian Seafood Fest and it was always funny:
Two old miners in Alaska woke up one frosty morning to find that their dog was dead and frozen stiff. Because the dog was such a good boy, they realized they needed to have a proper burial. However neither one had any religious training. The grave was dug and finally one stood up and began “In the name of The Father, The Son and In-the-hole-he goes”.
Stan’s last DVD (60 years after having a hilarious kids TV show) has a long song titled “Yew joost don’t look goot nakid, anymore”. Sidesplitting.
Thanks Sari for this. I too have written my eulogy.I gave it to my neice who would be the one to read it at my funeral. Her reply, after reading it, was "There are so many more wonderful things that you have done in love for others. I sure do wish I could attend to hear in person about myself. Fondly, Michael
Aww. love the niece reply ❤️
Sweet. :)
Did a training two years ago through a Buddhist retreat center near where I live titled "One Year to Live" based on the book by Stephen Levine. Big group once-a-month (Zoom) small group once-a-month (in person). We contemplated death, wrote our own obituaries, did life reviews, etc. I had written my own obit long before, and tweak it every now and then while letting my daughters know that they can write whatever they damn well please when I'm gone. Love Karen's book and bought it not only for myself but for both daughters. Think about death every day and like Jane Goodall said (before she died) I believe that death is the next great adventure! At 87 my bucket list ain't very long, and although there was a time in my life when I thought my destiny was to die destitute in the gutter a homeless drunk, I managed to change trajectory and thwart that prediction, got sober 44 years ago, and now feel I can give my life five stars. Have accomplished far more than I ever dreamed I would or could.
I really appreciate this: “I believe that death is the next great adventure! ”
Most of my life I have seen it as lights out - show is over…
Perhaps not?
But seeing the incredible regenerative power of nature, the return of life to the blast zones of Mt. St. Helens and even the horrific wildfire acreage from a year ago is challenging that. We are part of this nature, so part of the cycle.
I can’t recall the source, but I read that Steve Jobs’ last words were “Oh wow. Oh wow. Oh wow!” It’s really shifted my perspective. The Final Frontier’
Being awake but medicated by hypnotics for two cataract surgeries was incredible! It was like going ‘down that lighted tunnel’ but in color. Not something I ever expect to experience again.
Song from my youth is echoing now- “don’t fear the reaper”. Hope I can build upon this nascent acceptance!
The mirror doesn’t lie about the mandatory march to one’s last exit. I’d like to believe I have a say in when/how (make god laugh) but I’m so clumsy and occasionally foolhardy, that’s a lousy bet.
Thanks for sharing your perspectives.
Love your reflections here, Ali. And yes....“don’t fear the reaper.” ❤️
Hi Patricia! Thanks for your shout out about my book! Wow. 44 years sober and “five stars” ...You are truly cool and amazing! ❤️
Inspiring! Kudos.