Last week was not the best of weeks. A friend passed away and I found myself — along with more than 100 others — at Bushey New Cemetery mourning the loss of a lovely woman taken far too soon.
When one of her bereft sons went to give the hesped (eulogy), something happened that I had never seen or heard before. After a few introductory words, he explained that, a few weeks earlier, he had asked his mother what she would want him to say. She was well aware that her time was limited and decided to write her own farewell.
As he began to speak, it seemed to those gathered in that huge, cold hall that we could hear our dear friend’s voice one last time — and what a speech it was. It had wit, it had warmth and, above all, was full of love for her family and for a life which, though cut short through illness, she still regarded as blessed. How her poor son managed to read it so eloquently, I will never know. Most of those present were clutching soggy tissues by the end of it.
It struck me that writing your own eulogy is a good idea. Of course, not all of us have the luxury (or privilege? I’m not sure what it is) to know when our time is up. Some of us are taken in an instant, while others have the opportunity to say their goodbyes and at least try to get their affairs in order.
