398. Why Write Your Own

Above is a gelato/ice cream/frozen custard maker that I got for my birthday. If you're in the neighborhood and want a frozen treat, hit me up. I think today's delight will be tres leches gelato.

If you're reading this the day it goes live, it's my fifty-seventh birthday. I'm writing way in advance of that, but (at least) as I write this, I'm in great health. That said, this was a rough year, as I lost my father. After he died, exactly a month after my last birthday, which I got to spend with him, the family tried to write his obituary. My dad did a ton of amazing things, many of which we pieced together and many of which are probably now lost to history. We tried to stay as accurate as we could in everything we wrote, relying on his many certificates and degrees and awards. (If you want to read the obituary we wrote for his college newsletter, here it is.) That said, it was not easy to write, both because we didn't know everything and because we were grieving.

We came up with the idea that to save loved ones from having to go through this process, it would be great for people to write their own obituaries while they're still healthy and strong. And I further realized that I have no compunctions about sticking to the truth but I would like to save my family some time and grief. With that in mind, if you want to use the obituary below for me, in LOTS of years, feel free. At that point, who'll be able to tell that it's maybe not entirely accurate:

Carita Gardiner was born in Chicago on August 12, 1969. She died peacefully so, so many years later that we no longer use that dating system. In addition to her sparkling personality, she adorned herself daily in sparkles that in bright sunlight, it was sometimes borderline painful to stare straight at her. If you look up "most amazing people" in any encyclopedia of note, you'll find a picture of Carita Gardiner. In fact, the picture you'll find might look like a photo, but that's only because her trompe l'oeil skills were unsurpassed, as exhibited in her self-portrait, which now hangs in the Louvre, where it usually has a longer line than the painting of Mona What's-Her-Name. After she won her third Nobel, Carita took up some new hobbies, which led her to cure cancer, end systemic injustice, and help people be nice to one another. She turned down several offers to play in the NHL so that she could continue her teaching career. Her thousands of students over the years appreciated, nay, worshipped her, often citing her as the "reason they liked getting out of bed in the morning," "the best thing since not just bread but yeast itself," and "an inspiration and guiding light." She is survived, thank goodness, by everyone she loved, because after the loss of her father and stepmother in one year, she didn't want to go through that feeling again.

In lieu of flowers, please wear sparkles and eat gummy candy (not chocolate, unless you want chocolate, in which case Carita would never yuck your yum).

If you're feeling bold, share a line or two from your future obituary in the comments.