After my funeral

When I was in college, I took a class that required me to plan my own funeral. I had to consider the scripture readings for the mass, I had to select pallbearers, pick my casket and headstone, I even had to pick the music that would be sung. It was an interesting exercise, one that forced me to think about the fragility of life. But the constant reminder I offered my conscious was that it was just as I described it: an exercise. I didn't think that I was wishing an early death on myself or anything. I didn't assume that once the project was completed, my life would end. The irony of it all.

I am sure I have the documents I prepared sitting somewhere in a box marked, “old college stuff.” If I pulled it out and read through it, I am certain that nothing I wrote would still pertain to anything I would really want to have. Life changes, people change, and I am not the person I was 19 years ago.

Until I became a father, I didn't really think about how my death would affect people. I mean, I realize people will be sad, and--pre-kids--I'd think "if I go before Cyndi, she'd be hit the hardest."

There's this kid on Frederic's baseball team, Matthew, whose father died. I'm not sure when he died, I never knew him, but it's been long enough that Matthew's mother has already remarried and divorced. I'm pretty sure that Matthew is the youngest in his family. At games, Matthew's family seems a bit distant. His mother spends most of her time socializing with the other parents, if she attends at all, and his siblings are often engaged in teenage things (read: texting their friends). At times, the crew will comment on Matthew's plays, but there's an obvious distance; almost like a clique.

Matthew's aunt comes to the games a lot, and she is an unofficial team "mom." She keeps track of the at-bats for both teams, and she cheers all of the kids on with enthusiasm. It's a strange dynamic, the way the family carries on, but it makes me wonder what would happen if I died when the kids were so young. I wonder how Cyndi would react to the stress of it all. It seems beyond all comprehension to think that my death wouldn't bring anything other than a veil of protection, a closeness from her with the kids that is already present. Except it would be 100X's more intense.

But you never know. You never know what Matthew's mom and siblings would have been like if their father was still alive. You never know if Cyndi would become the antithesis of her actual self because of the tragic event of my death. When a parent dies, a part of the child dies too.

Planning my funeral 19 years ago was just an exercise. I think I'll skip my workout for the next 100 years.