When it all comes down to it, we don’t have a lot of say in what might be written about us or what might be inscribed on our tombstone, if we have one.
I remember asking my dad if there was anything he particularly wanted on his headstone and his reply was, “Well no, you can decide that, after all, I think I’ll have other things to think about.”
I’m sure when the time comes my children will think of something to say about me. They are good at recall, they often sit around the table at family dinners have a wonderful time remembering me as a father and how they ‘suffered’ having me as their dad.
Thankfully it is all in good fun.
Then again, I don’t intend to be buried. I’ve told them to cremate me and then find somewhere appropriate to spread my ashes, for example down the back yard would be fine.
They would hold me in good stead in their own ways. I don’t like memorials all that much. If you go to your cemeteries you see so many neglected graves, the generations have moved on, the dead are forgotten or remembered in passing as great grandmother or father.
Death sends us into history. We cease to be present, we become memories, good and bad and we have no say in ultimately what might be said about us.
It would be nice to think we did enough to be remembered fondly.