I’ve been working on editing my obituary for Papa. I know there’s not a right way or a wrong way to compose them. Sure, there are traditions and conventions, but in reality, I’m free to write it however I want.

Still, even given that freedom, there’s no way to capture a man’s life in a few paragraphs. There’s no way to tell where he came from, what made him who he was, how he impacted those around him in a text short enough to fit on a memorial brochure.

“I’m glad this is the last obit I have to write,” I think, and then I think again. We never know, do we?

Ideally, we would all write our own obituaries ahead of time, but of course, that’s not ideal at all: we never see ourselves as others see us, for better or worse.

It reminds me of a piece of advice I read somewhere — can’t remember where or who wrote it. It had to do with becoming the “you” you really want to be. It was simple and to the point: “Write your dream obituary, then work backward.”

Papa was far too humble to admit it, but I think he did just that.