Some people are fortunate to read their own obituary. Well , is there something fortunate in getting to read that? It may also turn to be a painful reminder, a late realization that you are or were a damn fool. How about being present at your memorial service? The white pallor of you, dressed in immaculate white traditional uniform of the dead? You would come to know what the world- the friends who you loved , the relatives who you thought loved you, the acquaintances who nod while you pass them on the street ,all would subscribe to the requiem.
The eulogy they may read and it may blush your cheeks even though you are dead.
The ones who disparaged you and hounded you to the end of the world while you were alive, or even did the eerie black magic to summon Lucifer and numb your senses, all would in unionism orate in praise of the magnificent person you were. You will wonder why your mother , your wife or husband did not notice these conspicuous qualities while you were walking around in flesh and blood. And now once you were interned in the inescapable underground vault the whole world conspire to bring forth grand orations about what you were. You may for a moment pinch your cheek to know if all is real. But then the dead cannot pinch, they pinch through!
This was what I felt whenever I have been at the sidelines listening to a few memorial services . After you are gone, you will be eulogised for things that you did not do, and would not have done either. Hallo and saint hood is thrust upon you . And for that to happen, you need not have to be patient and bring forth three miracles like the Vatican insist. You only just have to pass away. Scoundrel or saint when alive, you will be baptised after death and given a clean chit that you could not have dreamt when alive.
The mother of all jokes would be a primate throwing tributes to the departed. The closest liaison he must have ever had with the deceased would be at a sumptuous meal complimented with exotic spirits, at the home of the departed. But the words and phrases that flow from him in tribute will flatter even Alcapone lying in his grave.
Eulogies have a queer sense. What they really mean one may not understand because it is neigh impossible to enter the mind of the speaker and decipher what he or she really means when he says, “I loved him”. By far that is the fact. Exceptions to the rule are not to be forgotten!
Here are a few tributes to the departed-
-By a husband who excelled in infidelity towards his wife had this to say at the memorial service.”If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I’d walk right up to heaven and bring you home again.”
-By the Bishop who lead the memorial service to a young woman of the laity who was raped and killed. “If we have been pleased with life, we should not be displeased with death, it comes from the hand of the same master.”
-A politician’s requiem at the funeral of his bête noire. “say not in grief he is no more , but live in thankfulness that he was ( is no more).”
-A friend’s eulogy .”The mystery of his love is greater than the mystery of death.”
How I wish I could speak at the memorial service of at least a few people I know. Remind them of their lives and more ,which that they thought people pretermitted