Nothing great to say?

I’ve shared more than once here at Pierini Fitness about my daily practice of reading obituaries in my, now, former hometown newspaper.  I initially shared it over twelve years ago here:

Reading the obits 

Living in a different town in another state, I still read my former hometown obits each morning, but have also started reading them in my hometown weekly newspaper.  Now, however, I don’t occasionally encounter reading about the passing of an old elementary or high school buddy or a former client.

Still, I enjoy reading the obits of those who have passed, learning about the life they lived and the good person they were, even if skeletons in the closet details of lives they lived, or the jerk they were, are omitted. 

Now at the tail end of my middle-age manhood, I’m approaching the timeline in my life where I’ll soon be able to count the years of life I have remaining with the fingers on my hands.  It’s an eerie realization that my date with the Grim Reaper is getting closer by the day.

Another similar math-oriented realization mental exercise is making a wild guess of how many years of life I may have remaining and then adding it to the current age of my four little grandsons.  I did that yesterday while driving to Sunday Mass. 

If, for example, I make it to age 80, my youngest grandson will be 16 years old, the only age during which when I looked in the mirror and truly saw a 16-year-old kid.  If that happened to be my exit planet earth age, I’d miss his high school graduation.

That would be a shame.

If I thrive reading the obits of others, maybe I should grab a paper and pen and compose mine. 

Would I enjoy reading my obit?

What would it say?

Maybe it’ll be like the obituaries I typically read; a wonderful story about a great person who lived a great life.  I’m sure such a fictional composition is within my literary paygrade.

But in a moment of truthful reflection, I ponder what if there’s nothing great to say?

Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum