Can You Hear Me Now

And were an epitaph to be my story I’d have a short one ready for my own. I would have written of me on my stone: I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

Robert Frost

I am not the kind of guy who overthinks death. My life is too full and rich for that. Still, for quite a few years, I have been a whole lot closer to death than I am to my birth and that alone allows the subject to creep into my thoughts ever now and then. This is one of those times.

I will begin by saying that I do not fear death. It’s not something I am trying to hasten, but neither am I running away from it. Over the past few years, I have lost far too many important people to believe that I will somehow be spared. I recognize that my time in this particular body and mind has a limited shelf life and it’s important that I take time to contemplate how I want to say my final goodbye.

Whether or not I will have opportunities for more goodbyes beyond this particular life is irrelevant. All I can be sure of is who I am today and let everything else dwell inside the great mystery. There is no need to boil the ocean to make a cup of tea.

There Goes the Neighborhood

My thoughts remained abstract until a recent gathering of retired friends where we discussed the epitaphs we would like written about us. The point was not to glorify our lives in unrealistic ways. Instead, we pondered who we are today, what we have been, where are we headed, and what a truthful remembrance in a sentence or two look like.

The truthful remembrance part was the most important, and most difficult aspect of our epitaphs. We have all lived long and complicated lives that were filled with moments of pride, ambivalence, and far too often, shame. To be human is to be gloriously broken and none of us have known lives free from hurt and mistakes.

In other words, “Always in our thoughts, forever in our hearts” doesn’t quite cut it. We want something that represents who we are, and ultimately were, warts and all.

One of the men discussed how he asked his family for epitaph ideas, but I am not brave enough to do that. Perhaps I need a little more time to become comfortable with myself and what people would say about me — yet another goal to work toward.

Fun fact: A quick Internet search provided a wealth of epitaphs of very famous people. While some were sadly blah, quite a few stood out from the others. These were among my favorites:

• Bette Davis: “She did it the hard way.”
• Mel Blanc: “That’s all folks.”
• Frank Sinatra: “The best is yet to come.”
• Rodney Dangerfield: “There goes the neighborhood.”
• Winston Churchill: “I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter.”

As for me, I would like something simple and honest. Something that captures my essence while not painting an unrealistic portrait. I am not ready to have anything set in stone (pardon the forced pun), but an epitaph along these lines would be something I can live with for the duration of my death:

If future generations can identify with any of those sentiments, it will be an honor to be remembered that way.

Music as Epitaph

I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve been listening to a song and then said to Linda, “I want this played at my funeral.” Her response is always the same. “Write it down.” Well, today I am finally following through. Take note, family. Bookmark this article.

Honestly, this is so much harder than writing an epitaph. Music has always spoken the parts of me that prose never quite could and there are far too many funeral-worthy songs to choose from.

As a child and young adult, music was the escape from my dysfunctional family and to this day, it has never let me down. I have songs that make me happy, songs that make me think, songs that calm me down, songs that push me beyond what I believe I am capable of doing, and songs that bring me closer to the man I strive to be.

Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness. Maya Angelou

As much as I would love my celebration of life to be hours of my absolute favorite tunes, no one would ever agree to that — and I will not be around to change their mind’s. So, in order to have a halfway decent chance that my wishes are honored, here are three songs for whatever ceremony is planned. I am more than happy to provide a few dozen more for any mingling before and after, but that’s a blog article for another day.

The Beginning

I cannot recall the first time I heard Richie Havens sing Follow, but I do remember how it hit me. I literally wanted to crawl inside that song — I still do. It spoke to me of the life I wanted to live and the man I wanted to be. Here I am hundreds of listens later and I still feel exactly the same way.

Let the river rock you like a cradle
Climb to the treetops, child, if you’re able
Let your hands tie a knot across the table
Come and touch the things you cannot feel

From Follow by Jerry Merrick

The Middle

Whether it’s preparing meals for my family or teasing my taste buds with a fiery curry, food has always been an essential and highly spiritual part of my existence and I need a song that expresses that. After a great deal of thought and lots of back and forth on far too many lyrics, I am choosing Judy Collins’ rendition of Valerie Carter’s Cook with Honey. The lyrics are as warm and inviting as a bowl of minestrone on a cold winter night.

Although Valerie’s Howdy Moon version is very nice, I prefer Judy’s pacing, silvery voice, and lighter production. The song will be a sweet reflection and a time to breathe in the love. It also has a very singable chorus and that never hurts.

Muffin warm and basket brown
Smiling faces gathered round our dinner table
Close together, hand in hand

From Cook with Honey by Valerie Carter

The End

I hope there is laughter at my celebration of life. There may also be tears, joy, and even anger. I cannot control any of that, but I can help guide folks back into a world without me and want them to walk away feeling a piece of the life I embraced.

As such, I want my celebration to end with Elmer Bernstein’s Theme from the Magnificent Seven. Not only does it pay homage to my Arizona desert upbringing, it paints an image of courage, tenacity, and overcoming great odds. I want people to know how I felt about being alive no matter what was thrown at me.

Worst case, they make their ways home humming one of the greatest movie themes ever written.

Sing Me Home

It wasn’t that long ago when I would have scoffed at making plans for my death. It wasn’t because I believed I was going to live forever. Far from it. It was because I felt planning didn’t matter. Once you’re dead, you’re dead and it makes no difference if you plan or not. It’s not like I will be there to enjoy seeing my send-off, anyway.

I don’t think that anymore. I still don’t plan on attending my celebration of life — at least not in my current form. However, I have found peace in choosing what I would like to happen. It will be the final expression of who I was and how I want people to remember me. After that, it will be up to the living to carry on their own lover’s quarrel with the world.

Your turn. What would you like your epitaph to read? Are you inclined toward serious, funny, spiritual, or something altogether different? Is celebration of life music as important to you as it is to me? How involved do you want to be in your final send-off?

Thank you for reading.

As a hand grips another
firm yet tender
or a nut screwed to its bolt unyielding
here he lies
holding tight to the scraps of his being
with every ounce of strength and determination
just as he did in life
when the breaths came easier and his body did as requested

Just as he will
wherever death takes him
when she finally comes to call