Live your Obituary

Yesterday I set the timer on my phone to indulge in 15 minutes of Facebook. This practice keeps my addiction to mindless procrastination to a minimum.  I was reminded of something I wrote for a local newspaper a few years ago.  I think those "on this day" memories are the best thing about Facebook. What a great retrospection of my blessings, progress, or in some cases, I confess, regression.  However, it's all good.  It's like a home video of my life, mostly highlights, but occasionally a little venting, opinions, and whining just to ensure authenticity.   As I've gotten older I have given some thought to dying, which doesn't scare me near as much as living does some days.  Recently, I've put in place a few preparations and practices; I gave my daughter a copy of my last wishes, and my prayer every morning is to heal any relationship or wound that is mine to heal so I can enter heaven with a clean conscience. Somehow I thought I had to be clear about the "mine to heal" part, as if God didn't know I am the consummate people pleaser, often making amends just to be liked, or because I have an aversion to discord. I am a bit of a believer in reincarnation and I don't want to have to come back and experience all the judgments, unkindness, and rejection I have doled out to others. In my fantasies, I imagine Donald Trump coming back as a black, Muslim, immigrant woman in a poor family in Alabama. Hey, I just said earlier, I am in conversations with God on this judgement defect.   Besides, the question of past and future lives is a topic for another day.  I know it's a controversial one for many Christians. But, my crazy brain keeps telling me its worth exploring, if nothing else to help me be accountable for my actions while I am living.  I mean, when Jesus came back after the Resurrection and before the Ascension, his own disciples did not recognize him. Same Divine soul, different body. Enough. Here's my article from four years ago.

My Obituary 

by Becky Mahoney

I think someone jostled my endocrine gland during my recent surgery sending a surge of crazed hormones to event plan a really fine pity party- just for me!  I’ve been to those kind of parties before and do not enjoy the hangover. So, I pulled out my own mood altering, drug-free, drugs; inspirational websites, books, plenty of prayer, a little meditation, and some of my old journals and writings. Those tools usually set my gratitude into motion again.

I stumbled on something I wrote in 2006.  Then, it didn’t seem to be such a big deal, rather a time gobbling exercise.  It was a homework project assigned by my therapist. One thing you should know about me, I don’t think there is anything honorable about suffering, and martyrdom is not a stylish label I’m interested in wearing.  In simpler terms, I am not adverse to availing myself of some professional guidance and clarity when the road ahead gets foggy.  I consider it an option to reach out to someone who might help me turn off the fog machine. Life is too precious.  This time though, I recall being a little miffed. I was paying the professional to fix my life.  He expected me to do homework?  Furthermore, it was just plain creepy.  He told me to write my own obituary.  I had no idea what a timeless gift this wonderful mentor gave me.  

I waited until the night before to complete my assignment.   Two typewritten pages, front and back. Wow, I thought, I better be designating big bucks in my Last Will and Testament to publish this one; in the New York Times of course.  Because, if you read my imaginary obituary, my life will be notable.  Maybe not notable as in, Mother Theresa, or Nelson Mandela, but certainly it was in the plan to make greater contributions than Kim Kardashian or a Real Housewife. 

The first sentence read, “Rebecca Sue Puhr, Klein, Heidtke, Marino, Mahoney, passed on to her real home for regrouping before her next life.”  I know what you’re thinking. Cut me some slack.  In spite of all those names, I’ve been married only twice and the second one died.  It’s the history behind all those names that have turned my obituary into a four page commentary on a life well-lived.  It went on to read,  “She was 82 years old, still bleached her hair blonde and wore bright, shiny lipstick, just so she could leave lip prints on her loved ones and totally annoy her son-in-law.  At her visitation, it is reported that people waited in line for hours just to catch a glimpse of the veiny, yet still shapely leg, dangling over the side of the casket; the tiny foot sporting a hot pink stiletto.   Rebecca entered the world an old soul, both eyes wide, inquisitively searching for the meaning of life from her first breath.  A tiny free spirit, willing to try anything once, she was the first in her kindergarten class to eat escargot and climb to the top of the monkey bars.  A true adventurer, the price of great exploit was never too high for her, and she willingly accepted any discipline, rightfully  doled out by authority figures as a result of her risk taking.  It was all about curiosity and exploration. As a young girl, she was grounded for a good part of her teenage years.  She joked, “The dog got out more than I did.”  And, so it continued, my obituary-  painting a picture, tracing a path, charting a future. 

The questions posed by my therapist to evoke thought, were this simple.  What do you want your life to look like when you get to the end?  What do you want others to remember about you?  What will you leave behind?   This obituary has been a guiding force in my life ever since.  It’s a poignant reminder of where I came from, what has formed me, what I can change, and what I want my legacy to be. I can choose.   Who knows what the next 20+ years will  bring?  Maybe I’ll add another last name. Maybe I’ll make the NY Times Bestseller list.  Or, maybe I will just be remembered as an adventurous spirit, who loved people and life and did her best. 

You know, that Rebecca Sue Puhr, Klein, Heidtke, Marino, Mahoney lady, well, she is quite a character and I’m really glad I got to know her.  Now back to the business of doing my best to become her.  By the way, the last line in my obituary reads, Surrounded by family and friends at the moment of her passing, its reported they heard a soft whisper, “WooHoo, this is awesome!  See ya, I don’t think I’m coming back for quite some time!”

Write your own obituary- create your own life. 

“Sometimes your joy is the source of your smile, but sometimes your smile can be the source of your joy.- ” Thich Nhat Hanh

 

 GRATITUDE

I’ve just started a decades old project at the suggestion of my daughter.  Scrapbooking my pictures of my magical two months in Italy and France from TEN years ago.  That little Sneaky Pete daughter of mine I’m sure had an ulterior motive. Either: a) Just the practice of designing and laying out a page and doing something creative would show that elusive Muse I miss her and want her to come home. Or,  b) Help pass the time while I sort out how/if I want to continue with this forced retirement. Or, c) Remind me to focus on how immensely blessed my life has been and get cracking on living and breathing the kind of gratitude I had a decade ago.  

No matter the reason, I am now having a ball enjoying long walks down memory lane and feeling the

emotion that accompanied my trip of lifetime.  I can close my eyes and remember how awed I was to stand before Monet’s Water Lilies Collection and discover they weren’t 16x20 size like the knock-off I have at home, rather, massively long landscape canvases stretched across a pure white Museum wall.  I recall the exhilaration of parasailing in Nice, France and getting dunked into the French Rivera. And, standing in Cathedrals at the tombs of the great Masters of Religion, Architecture, Art, and Science sparking my imagination and offering up their stories. My most profound experience on the trip, was the memory of walking

around the tomb of St. Francis, my hand outstretched towards the circular  stone and iron monument.  As I moved around the tomb, I felt a mysterious vibration and goose bumps popped up all over my body. I was stunned into silent reverence and left there imprinted and changed.    You can see his tomb here and read the story of his burial.

https://churchpop.com/2016/10/04/the-mystery-of-the-hidden-tomb-of-st-francis-of-assisi/.

Beginning the project of putting in order over 15,000 digital images and then remembering where I was; which cathedral, museum, or site has been a great adventure in itself.  It’s forced me to pore over my journal, souvenirs, and do internet searches on the history.  This has to be good for my much older brain!  

Mixed in with those trip photos are images of my grand-

daughters through the years; parties, day trips, much smaller vacations, and holidays.  How could I not smile and be reminded of my very blessed life?  I’ve spent far too much time over the last few years healing from too many surgeries, regretting being forced into retirement of sorts, and feeling sorry for myself.  It’s become apparent, especially this past year, the missing key that drove my delight in life and trust in God.  Gratitude.

Gratitude changes an attitude and allows us to see the sacred moments.  

I started to recall some of the most devastating events of my life, times when gratitude seemed impossible, but somehow, with God’s help, I eventually uncovered it.  When my mother died, far too young, I was intensely angry.  I loved her so much despite the fact her alcoholism resulted in a very chaotic, toxic childhood for my brother and I.  However, seven years before she died, she found recovery.  I discovered gratitude for being able to get to know a sober, bright, funny, caring,

and GRATEFUL mother.  She was a gem.  When my  39 year old husband died after an 18 month battle with cancer, for a time, all meaning in my life seemed destroyed.  Miraculously the end of that same year, my daughter and son-in-law announced they would be presenting me with my first grand-child.  The gratitude for that great blessing led me to see how lucky I was to have found the love of my life and enjoyed him for the ten years of our relationship. 

That time was magical, and I now recognize that we were given so much more in our limited number of years than most couples experience in the lifetime of their marriages. That gratitude heralded in two more lovely grandchildren.  Oprah Winfrey often says, “The more thankful I became, the more my bounty increased.  That’s because, for sure, what you focus on, expands.  When you focus on the goodness in life, you create more of it.” 

This scrapbooking project has become the watering can to grow my gratitude.  It was still there, just  hidden beneath the mud I’ve been wallowing in. It’s beginning to break

ground, and revealing signs of life.   I used to complain back in the day of long hours of working, sometimes two jobs, attending school full time, and keeping up a monster house on my own, I didn’t have enough time to do so many of things I had loved when I was a young mom - writing, sewing, cooking, crafting, reading, exercising, and yes, even scrapbooking.  I’m a sucker for photographs. 

I heard a voice reminding me of that and the whisper that followed, saying, “Good grief, lady. Watch what you pray for.

I have given you a great gift these past three years - TIME. And, the resources to take care of your needs.”  That’s another mystical gratitude story for another day.

I’m trying.  Somehow I sense gratitude’s even more important in these senior years, when the body, mind, and finances start diminishing.  However, I can be grateful for the surgeries to ease the pain, online games to keep my mind sharp, and the economy for greatly improving making jobs plentiful.  I only have to be retired if I want to be.  Most of all, I am grateful for the time which has allowed me to do so many of things I love.  And, for my deceased husband’s love in leading me to his Social Security until I do decide to retire, and apply for my own!  Who knew?

I’m also considering going blonde again.  Look at my smile in these photographs! I think it might be true.  Blondes do have more fun! 

Let gratitude be the pillow which you kneel to say your nightly prayer.  

Maya Angelou