i've been asked to write my grandfather's obituary.
he's not dead, but he's 87, and not in the best health. and it's not something any of us want to do under pressure or grief. "it's not morbid," my mom told me, practically begging, on our way to a bridal shower over the weekend. my brother marries in six weeks. life goes on.
i don't like getting all preachy, mostly because it doesn't seem like me. i feel like i'm talking about things i don't yet understand, like a kid who pretends to know things, even though i do know things. i've been through this before.
a brother of a friend recently died. he was too young - 29. his obituary was beautifully written, and all i can think about is his mother, typing her oldest child's life story out - a story that has ended.
it's not morbid, obituary writing. it starts with death, but there's also life - family, friends, work, hobbies. memories. lots of laughter. the endless games of spoon. summers spent in the pool. root beer by the gallon. life.
"do any human beings ever realize life while they live it - every, every minute?" -emily webb, our town
i think we do, if only in death.