I don't want to make too big a deal about this, okay, but I've been thinking about my obituary, so I decided to see what others have said. You know, kinda looking for inspiration. I probably won't go with something like this -
But there are other choices:
Dolores Aguilar, born in 1929 in New Mexico, left us on August 7, 2008.
Dolores had no hobbies, made no contribution to society and rarely shared a kind word or deed in her life. I speak for the majority of her family when I say her presence will not be missed by many, very few tears will be shed and there will be no lamenting over her passing.
Her family will remember Dolores and amongst ourselves we will remember her in our own way, which were mostly sad and troubling times throughout the years. We may have some fond memories of her and perhaps we will think of those times too. But I truly believe at the end of the day ALL of us will really only miss what we never had, a good and kind mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. I hope she is finally at peace with herself. As for the rest of us left behind, I hope this is the beginning of a time of healing and learning to be a family again.
There will be no service, no prayers and no closure for the family she spent a lifetime tearing apart. We cannot come together in the end to see to it that her grandchildren and great-grandchildren can say their goodbyes. So I say here for all of us, GOOD BYE, MOM.
Or this:
Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other’s courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle as a result of an automobile accident on June 18, 2006. True to Fred’s personal style, his final hours were spent joking with medical personnel while he whimpered, cussed, begged for narcotics and bargained with God to look over his wife and kids. During his life he excelled at mediocrity. He loved to hear and tell jokes, especially short ones due to his limited attention span.
When his family was asked what they remembered about Fred, they fondly recalled how Fred never peed in the shower – on purpose. He died at MCV Hospital and sadly was deprived of his final wish which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a double date to include his wife, Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter to crash an ACLU cocktail party. In lieu of flowers, Fred asks that you make a sizable purchase at your local ABC store or Virginia winery (please, nothing French – the *censored*) and get rip roaring drunk at home with someone you love or hope to make love to. Additionally, all of Fred’s friend (sic) will be asked to gather in a phone booth, to be designated in the future, to have a drink and wonder, “Fred who?”
GRAHAM MASON, the journalist who has died aged 59, was in the 1980s the drunkest man in the Coach and Horses, the pub in Soho where, in the half century after the Second World War, a tragicomedy was played out nightly by its regulars. Unlike his friend Jeffrey Bernard, though, Graham Mason did not make himself the hero of his own tragedy. His speciality was the extreme. In one drinking binge he went for nine days without food. On one cold day he complained of the noise that the snow made as it landed on his bald head.
His practice of “boozer’s economics” meant dressing in the shabbiest of clothes, many of them inherited from the late husband of the woman with whom he lived. He wore a threadbare duffel coat with broken toggles. One day it was inexplicably stolen from the pub coathook. After Marsh Dunbar’s death in 2001, with almost all his friends dead, he sat imprisoned by emphysema in his flat, with a cylinder of oxygen by his armchair and bottles of white wine by his elbow, looking out over the Thames, still very angry.
Louis J. Casimir Jr. bought the farm Thursday, Feb. 5, 2004, having lived more than twice as long as he had expected and probably three or four times as long as he deserved. Although he was born into an impecunious family, in a backward and benighted part of the country at the beginning of the Great Depression, he never in his life suffered any real hardships. Many of his childhood friends who weren’t killed or maimed in various wars became petty criminals, prostitutes, and/or Republicans. Lou was a daredevil: his last words were “Watch this!”
And is this guy related to Frederic Arthur (Fred) Clark (above)? It's almost the same obit.
A celebration of life for
James William "Jim" Adams, 53, will be held at a later date. He died Tuesday, Sept. 9, 2008 at Memorial Hospital of Converse County in Douglas. Jim, who had tired of reading obituaries noting other's courageous battles with this or that disease, wanted it known that he lost his battle. It was primarily as a result of being stubborn and not following doctor's orders or maybe for just living life a little too hard for better than five decades.
He was sadly deprived of his final wish, which was to be run over by a beer truck on the way to the liquor store to buy booze for a date. True to his personal style, he spent his final hours joking with medical personnel, cussing and begging for narcotics and bargaining with God to look over his loving dog, Biscuit, and his family.
During his life, he excelled at anything he put his mind to. He loved to hear and tell jokes and spin tales of grand adventures he may or may not have had. In lieu of flowers, he asks that you make a sizeable purchase at your favorite watering hole, get rip roaring drunk and tell the stories he no longer can.
Robert James (Bob) Smith, 69, of Wilmington, North Carolina, surprised and annoyed his wife by dying in his sleep in the early hours of January 6, 2005.
In the middle of nearly any conversation, he loved to toss out the fact that he had ten children. He did this often, and generally for the sheer entertainment value of watching peoples' expressions. He would want it noted that these children hold nearly twenty degrees, from bachelors to doctorates. Since he celebrated his 42nd birthday for eight years in a row, many folks, including at least one of his kids, had no idea how old he really was.
Bob survived Cathedral Latin High School in Cleveland, and then graduated from the University of Dayton with a Bachelor of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering: he is now at Duke University's medical research facility, awaiting an incoming class of first-year med students with shiny new scalpels. He surely hopes to get credit for attendance, so Duke University is officially added to his resume, albeit posthumously.
After college, Bob served in the United States Army as an Intelligence Officer at the National Security Agency, attaining the rank of Captain. Fed up with the Army, he landed as a civilian at Wright Patterson Air Force Base, where he stayed for years and years. He really liked planes. He also liked blowing things up. He also loved his chainsaw.
Bob is survived by his wife. Other mourners include Libertarians, Unitarians, artists, beach-walkers, and an enormous extended family of friends, colleagues, and admirers. Please come to a celebration service for Bob. Or, just put on a silly hat and a comfortable t-shirt, grab your beverage of choice, and think about him.
Now you see why it's important that I write my own obituary. You just can't trust others to say the right things.
