Remembrance, She Wrote

The younger son had a remarkable teacher for English this last school year. One of the things she did to hone her students' writing ability was to assign journal writing. These were inventive journal writing tasks, often at least one of the four per month was an enjoyable experience for the 16yo. Let me say that, for him, writing is normally perceived as the most cruel and unusual of homework assignments. And that for him to dive into and enjoy writing approximately 25% of the time is something of a miracle. One of these writing challenges toward the end of the school year was to write an obituary for a worn out, broken, or lost object. They were instructed to use a standard obituary writing form, that reading obits in our local newspaper could be used as a guide for how to write theirs. Now I'm trying to use that advice myself and can't seem to get down to the task at hand. Normally writing is an entertaining and expressive activity for me that I enjoy. But I've never had to write an obituary before. And being close to the deceased oddly qualifies me for the job yet makes it doubly difficult. How do you pack the life of one human into so few words? A couple of weeks ago I agreed to collaborate with my brother's widow in the writing of his obituary, thinking we could fill in the gaps for each other. Me being something of an expert on his earlier life, she being the expert of his most recent years. I need to just sit down and do this. But I keep getting distracted by the stories and the photos and the memories. I need to think more like a journalist than a novelist. Writing this obituary is part of my process in accepting his death. Realizing that fact is part of my avoidance, and I have decided to have a rough draft to send to Pam by the end of the week. Also realizing that his life cannot be done justice in so brief a format, I have decided that when these memories and stories distract me, that I will write about them, because that's part of my process, too. Remembering Cullen, recognizing his life and accepting his passing, embracing all that he was and then letting it all go, is what I must do. I have a greater understanding now of how hard it is for my son to sit down and write. Just write! I tell him, it's easy. Just make what you want to say come out from your fingers instead of your mouth. It's time to take my own advice.