I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. First, someone close to me just died. Second, I just went to my friend’s father’s wake. And third, today (September 9) would have been my 25th wedding anniversary. I’m not telling you that to garner sympathy, although I appreciate it if you feel any. Rather, all these thoughts about losing loved ones makes me think of how I want my own story to unfold.
We all have a tale to tell; what we know as our truth. But memory is fallible and malleable (say that three times fast!). As we get older, we forget things that happened when we were young. We tend to believe what people tell us happened to us even if we’re not 100% sure. Time marches on, and events that may or may not have happened eventually become etched in stone. Nowadays, it seems that everyone’s life is self-chronicled and posted constantly, so there’s no escaping the facts, but that was never the case when I was growing up. I have distinct memories of my parents that my brother swears are skewed. Frankly, his memory has always been better than mine, so I go with his version, although it’s hard to accept sometimes.
And when I was in law school, I learned quickly that there are three sides to every story: yours, mine and the truth. Meaning that we color our memories with past experiences, biases and fears. I’ll give you an example.
For the past six months, I’ve been volunteering as a legal advocate with HAWC (Healing Abuse, Working for Change), an organization that supports domestic violence victims. Twice a week, I go to an Essex County district court and help clients to complete a protective order against their abuser (usually a temporary restraining order), stand with them before the judge for the hearing, and then customize their safety plan as their next step. Although we tend to prioritize those who seek special assistance from HAWC, if we have time, we’ll help anyone who wants a protective order. Recently, I assisted a middle-aged man who wanted an order against his parents, who owned the building where he lived. I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say, his is the only story I heard. His parents were being assisted by my HAWC colleague, and we’re not allowed to discuss the cases with each other until after the hearing.
Obviously, I take clients at their word, having nothing else to go on. When it was time for the hearing, boy were my eyes opened. His parents told an entirely different story with only a few basic facts left unchanged. Neither party was right, and neither was wrong; there was plenty of blame to go around in terms of who did what to whom. (And as a sidebar – all I could think was how very sad when a parent-child relationship is reduced to this). My colleague and I were both shocked that we were so ready to believe one thing and came out of the courtroom with a completely different narrative.
These imperfect memories made me think about who I want to tell my story: okay, since we’re talking about death, what I really mean is my obituary. No one wants to think about it, but the fact remains that we’re all going to die. Someday.
I’ve written a couple of obituaries, and of course you want to point out the good parts of someone’s life. The longer they lived, the longer the story, and you can only fit so much into a printed death notice. If someone were to write yours, what would you want it to say? Would you want to be remembered for your accolades (say, a law degree, a doctorate, a medical degree)? Or would you want people to know about your philanthropic work (giving to charity, volunteering for a good cause, organizing protests for what you think is right)?
I feel as though there’s more beauty and meaning in a sweet, simple story that people would want to read about a person who did nice things for other people. Maybe her grandmother was in a memory care unit and she went to read to her a few times a week. Perhaps he saw that a school library was woefully lacking resources and put together a GoFundMe to raise money. Let’s say a relative who didn’t get out much was lonely and they made sure to call once a week or so just to check in and share what they were doing. And on, and on. To me, that’s a life well-lived.
When all is said and done, what will your story be?
Lisa Marchionda Fama is a retired attorney who has lived in Marblehead for seven years, loves this town, and hopes she never leaves. Visit her blog at TheSoberWidow.com.
