Whidbey Island Freethinkers Message Board › Self Obituary
I am still alive. I think. I thought I started this discussion. Maybe I just thought about it.
The Whidbey newspapers publish obituaries of people. Sometimes they tell how wonderful they were and what wonderful deeds they did. Usually, they are written by survivors (spouses, children, friends, etc.). Sometimes these obituaries are probably truthful, but I am sure many contain lies and wishful thoughts. Sometimes the deceased were religious believers (often indicated in the obituaries). Sometimes it seems pretty obvious to me that the dead people were not religious believers, though I conclude that by inferences.
I decided to write my own obituary. I will have to depend on my wife (if she outlives me), or my daughter (if she finds it and decides to submit it), and if there is enough money). The South Whidbey Record charges for publishing obituaries. As far as I can calculate it, mine will cost about $700. I hope there is enough money left in our estate. As you can guess, I will out myself (not that I especially hide it) as an atheist.
In case anybody is worrying about it at the moment, I feel fine for right now. Every day I wake up and think, “Hey, I am alive. I will die some day, but probably not today.” How about you? Have you thought about your final service after you go? I plan to be cremated (more for legal reasons and for my survivors' convenience, but it would be fine with me if I were tossed in our woods for the coyotes and the crows to have a meal at my expense.
Here (in translation from ancient Scottish) is a poem on the topic:
The Two Crows
As I was walking all alone,
I heard two crows (or ravens) making a moan;
One said to the other,
"Where shall we go and dine today?"
"In behind that old turf wall,
I sense there lies a newly slain knight;
And nobody knows that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair."
"His hound is to the hunting gone,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl home,
His lady's has taken another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet."
"You will sit on his white neck-bone,
And I'll peck out his pretty blue eyes;
With one lock of his golden hair
We'll thatch our nest when it grows bare."
"Many a one for him is moaning,
But nobody will know where he is gone;
Over his white bones, when they are bare,
The wind will blow for evermore."