“If I take death into my life, acknowledge it, and face it
squarely, I will free myself from the anxiety of death and the pettiness of
life - and only then will I be free to become myself.”
— Martin Heidegger
I am an obituary writer. I am not a member of The Society of
Obituary Writers and I have never taken any classes on how to write an
obituary. I have no formal qualification or training. Let me ask you, what do
you imagine when you think of an obituary writer? An Edgar Allen Poe wannabe help up in a dingy
basement? Perhaps, a bitter old writer comprising a living? For some reason, I
used to imagine a woman in her late 60s, educated, with proper manners, perhaps
an etiquette instructor of yesteryear. I am not sure why but it seems for
most of us, an obituary should follow a certain form. But I never learned this
form. I have my own set of questions, I ask of the bereaved and then I insist
on meeting the subject wherever possible and I insist on looking into their
cold dead eyes.
Truth be told I am a ghost writer. I write farewell letters
between you and your dead loved ones, in special code. And further truth be
told, it is the same letter every time, someone dies. Your dead husband was not
special. His life was no more or no less full than the next person. But I can
make it seem that way. Your dead pre-pubescent daughter was not a unique flower
about to blossom. But I can make it seem
that way. And when you die you will be nothing out of the ordinary also. The
human mind is so held-up in its own ego, it needs to believe in its own eternal
'exceptionality' but we all follow the same trajectory. We are all born so the
universe can try and look at itself in the mirror through yet another angle and
then we all return to everything again, our lives meaning profoundly little and
beautifully everything. But I can make it seem ever-so-special for the benefit
of those left behind.
Obituary writing is a very fruitful business because people
keep dying and always will. We all die. Unless, Ray Kurzweil has his way and we
attain immortality via computer upload. And then I’m done for. My secret
profession will cease to be and I will cease to be and so will the universe.
This I know.
I am a young man. But I am a grown man. I am twenty-nine. I
have been an obituary writer for four years, since the day I accepted my own
mortality. My ‘day-job’ is a night job. I work as a security guard for a
building in the city-center that houses the head offices for a
telecommunications company. Nothing has done more to disconnect us than the
advent of mass cell phone and Internet usage. This I know. It’s a wonderfully
horrible illusion. I am surprised more people don’t try to burn this building
down in frustration for I would let them. Burn it down or ask your neighbour
over for tea. Both will take tremendous courage.
In such a world it is easy to not think about death and this
is why you need me to do it for you. You are busy writing your life story,
constructing your perfect profile, working towards an ideal, and you are
avoiding death. They say life is a journey but really it is not. It just is. If
there is any destination at all, it is your non-existence and that can be a
real brain-fart of a concept. And that is how I make my living. Because, of
your inability to think about death, I can live a full and free life.
When someone dies, I think about the work it will provide me
and I get a jolt of energy. The stars shine brighter and the wind feels
crisper, each and every time. Sometimes, on my work break, I walk around the
city. Every person I encounter, I think to myself, they are going to die and I
could write their obituary and make a nice little earner. I wonder who will
miss them, what they did with their lives, what they did not do, who they
matter to, are they alone or not, what they felt their life-calling was and
what got in the way of that calling, what they settled for and how I will put a
inimitable spin on this from the perspective of their oldest son, or widow, and
how well it will read in the Sunday Paper. And I return to work feeling,
really feeling, clearer.
And higher.
I am obituary writer. I think about death frequently. I
think about death many times a day. Nearly every waking moment, aside from
taking care of my basic needs, eating, shitting and so on, I am thinking about
how you and I are going to meet our end. Old age, horrible diseases and
accidents. Sometimes, an unknown swordsman will cut off our heads from out of
nowhere. Sometimes spontaneous explosions just blow us to infinite pieces. And
I think about ironing-out the confusion that leads up to that liberating
moment.
So let me write your loved one’s obituary. Let me write
yours. It will be easy. I have had lots of practice with an extensive portfolio
for you to peruse.
I have your life down to formulaic science but I can make
your death read like magnificent poetry.
