Here’s the first post.
Okay, so I feel a little bit like Jay Leno probably felt the first time he guest-hosted for Johnny Carson. Well, actually, probably more like Joan Rivers. She wasn’t good enough to step in permanently…and she was probably the only person home when Johnny’s people called.
I don’t even have a regular blog. I just have a Mommy blog. It’s not even that good. It’s got pictures of my son, and every once in awhile I’m clever, but more often than not it’s just … banal.
Kate, though, purports to like my turn of phrase. Huh. She is wicked smart, though. And has excellent taste. And she hates it when people begin sentences with conjunctions. And I do that quite often.
So, let’s talk about epitaphs. I know it’s not a funny topic (unless you consider the one that reads “I told you I was sick!”), but they are on my mind. My Dad asked me (along with my brothers and sisters) to come up with the inscription for the headstone he will share with my stepmother (she passed away last month after an illness lasting all of 9 days). It threw me for a loop at first. Then again, I suppose he could have just ordered one that said, “They were a swell couple!”, but I think his idea to have us decide is really much better.
The funeral home gave us a list of commonly used phrases. I read through them, and at first glance they all seemed trite. I started to realize, though, that they really only seem trite if they’re not about the person you loved. When you start reading the phrases in the context of your own loss, they take on a depth of meaning that’s intensely personal.
Still, we liked the idea of choosing something unique, something that speaks to who they were for each other. We wound up choosing a lyric from one of their favorite songs, and when we told my Dad he literally gasped.
So, here it is:
…And anywhere we choose to be
Will be our rendezvous
And it starts with a conjunction. Sorry, Kate.
Have you ever thought about what yours will be? If at the end of your life you had an opportunity to evaluate it, who would you have been for yourself? For your family? For the world in general? Who would you want to be? Are you on track?
I’ve been thinking about that. There’s room for improvement here. For me, at least.
Crap. Forty-two years old and there’s still things to learn.
Editor’s Note: Tomorrow is one year since she passed away. You’re missed, Grandma.