WHY YOU SHOULD WRITE YOUR OWN EULOGY
/I am an estate planning attorney. I write Wills, Trusts, and Powers of Attorney. I help people prepare for death.
But, ironically, the most important thing I've learned through my 33+ years in practice is not how to die, but how to live.
Life isn't about money, or whether you have the corner office, or what prestigious awards you receive. It's about what you leave behind.
Your eulogy will tell it all.
Years ago, a client passed away, and her eulogy was given by her two granddaughters. Unusual, but endearing. The two young ladies shared a list of all the things they loved most about their grandmother. Her baking. Her stories about her youth. Her sense of humor. But then they said something that I will never forget. Even to this day, when I think of it, I stop whatever I am doing, and smile. They said that they loved that she wore a bikini into her 60s.
How cool is that?
Of course, it wasn't about the bikini. It was about the fact that their grandmother had chosen to live life on her own terms. They spoke about her self–confidence and remarkable poise. No one asked what their grandmother weighed. Or if she looked good in the bikini. That didn't matter. In the least. What mattered was that she wore at all.
The more I reflect on the memories shared during my client's funeral, the more I come to the same, important conclusion: Each of us should write our own eulogy. Then live it. It's the ultimate "beginning with the end in mind."
What would yours say? I bet it wouldn't mention your pension plan. Or whether you made your bed each day. Or always remembered to empty the lint tray in the dryer.
It would embrace your character, and values, and relationships with others. The important stuff.
I would want my eulogy to say that I lived with passion and a playful spirit. That my family and friends knew I loved them because I told them every, every, every chance I got. That I hugged with wild abandon, and was always the last one to let go. That I embraced the ordinary moments that make life extraordinary, and encouraged others to do the same.
I would want it to say that I adored my husband, children, grandchildren, sisters, nieces and nephews, in laws, co-workers, and friends. That I made a conscious decision not to be defined by my challenging childhood, and was, instead, a good role model for my children, grandchildren, and godchildren.
That I never kicked the dog.
I want to be remembered for teaching my family the value of wearing onesies on Thanksgiving. For sewing prayer blankets that brought comfort to the sick. For being a skilled and ethical lawyer, playing foursquare with the neighborhood children (often in high heels), traveling the world with Duncan (including getting lost in the landmine-strewn hills of Croatia, and being held at gunpoint in Argentina), hosting breakfasts in my pajamas on snow-days (despite dust bunnies the size of tumbleweeds lying in wait in the corners of my house), and always telling the truth. Always. No matter what.
So go ahead. Sit down, take your time, and write your eulogy. List how you want to be remembered. Then go out, each day, and live it. Fully. Without hesitation. As if no one is watching. In a bikini.