A few years back, someone I knew ever so slightly died. Though I didn’t know him well, I knew him to be mean, egoistical and quite a bully.
Stories abounded of his greed including how once he cheated a man out of a piece of land, then sold it at quite a profit. He financed it so when the buyer ran into money woes, he quickly reclaimed it and sold it again. The couple of times I crossed his path, it was not pleasant. So I preferred to steer clear and in that, I was not alone.
News spread quickly he had died in the middle of the night.
Though I’m normally, when not traveling, at home tucked in a corner writing, I happened to be out and about town that day and encountered several who mentioned his death. No one I met cried or expressed sorrow. Each mentioned it, a couple told a personal, hurtful accounting of dealing with him while all just shook their heads and quietly cast forward a knowing look. Not once did I hear, “Bless his heart.”
Though one person did say, “Poor preacher. He’s really got his job cut out for him with this one.”
When his obituary appeared, I read it with amazement. It listed his civic duties, church contributions and a children’s home that had once been touched by his generosity. There was nothing in the words I read resembling the man I knew or the man I heard was known by others. The obit was about a noble, selfless and kind man.
Four people sent me a copy and asked incredulously, “Did you read this?”
For the rest of the day, I pondered over the obit. Here are the thoughts that circled over and over in my head:
Will I be remembered dramatically different by people than the good things heralded in my “good-bye world” death notice? That was pretty unsettling.
Once I got past that, though, I thought, “Is it possible to hire a public relations firm to manage your image after you’ve departed?”
Now, I spent a portion of my professional life in public relations so I know all about spinning situations and how, if you write enough press releases and fudge the truth enough, it is possible to turn a bad person into a good one. We see that with public figures all the time. To the point, the cynical press will now say, “In an effort to offset his recent public relations nightmare ... ”
You may think I’m crazy but I’ve come to the conclusion that his wealthy family hired a P.R. firm to write his obituary like a star-gone-bad hires a firm to remake her image. Except this would be the first time I’ve seen it done in death.
Or maybe I’m completely off and the person described in those glowing terms existed, but it was just a well-kept secret. Or perhaps that’s the way his family saw him. I’ve known a couple of folks who were mean as all get-out to everyone else but were the softest, most loving person possible to spouse and children.
Nonetheless, when I die, I don’t want to be built up to be more than I was. After seeing that overdone obit, I’ve decided all I’ll need will be a couple of paragraphs to list the necessary facts such as date, time, arrangements and survivors. Even that much is not necessary. That being said, I called together Tink and my sister, Louise, and issued instructions.
“I’m like Mama,” I said. “When I die, just put in the paper, ‘she died.’”
They protested that it wasn’t enough, there was more to be said. And they’re right. When my time comes for my heavenly reward, I hope my obituary will say:
‘She died. And once she went to Disneyland.’
Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of several books, including “There’s A Better Day A-Comin’.” Sign up for her newsletter at www.rondarich.com. Her column appears Tuesdays and on gainesvilletimes.com/ronda.