Monthly Essays

No, I’m Not Dead Yet

A couple years ago, I was sitting on a hard church pew beside a friend, listening to the gathering music of an organ as mourners drifted in. She finished reading the funeral program and said, “This is a great obituary. It captures his spirit.”

“Thank you,” I answered. I was proud of that one. (It started: When Chuck reported to the pearly gates, St. Peter said, “Where have you been, Chuck? You were supposed to be here two hours ago.” His tardiness was because he overcommitted to friends, and he had so very many friends.)

“You wrote this?” she asked.

I sure did. And it’s not the first one. I’ve written obits for those still among us and for friends who have departed. It’s made me take a hard look at my own life and how I’ve lived it.

Obits come in all shapes and sizes, or I should say pricey printed lengths. I read the ones in the newspaper and note what in a person’s life their obit writer, usually a family member with the help of a mortician’s form, thinks was important. Just spit balling here, but maybe being a Chiefs’ fan wasn’t the center of a person’s life. That’s entertainment, not what a person thought and felt and really valued.

To set the record straight, I’ve decided to write my own obituary. I’m not sick as I write this, nor do I plan to cross the street without looking. I’m just thinking I’ll lighten the load on my sons when my time comes to soar into the blue beyond. I want to paint an accurate word-picture of who I am, er, who I was. Here it goes:

Because we don’t see ourselves as others do, I asked friends how they would describe me. One said, “Prickly.” Okay, I get that. I have opinions and I’m fairly open about them. I don’t set out to hurt someone’s feelings, but I speak my mind.

Another friend said, “Kind.” Now that’s a word I like. I’ve tried to live by the rule of ‘treat others the way you want to be treated.’ I’ve not always succeeded, and I will not give examples.

I believe we shouldn’t argue faith. Everyone’s entitled to think what they will about what happens after death. A friend once said, “You’re the most Christian person I know.” That’s interesting since I’m actually a deist. From my youngest memory, I never felt the calling to attend a church, although I have read a red letter edition of Holy Bible from cover-to-cover. When asked religious preference on a health form, I answer Buddhist, so the one-size-fits-all hospital chaplain doesn’t come into the room.

I’ve long known I’m an egotist. My vanity license plate is Byline, because that’s important to me. I like seeing my name on the cover of a book or my byline on a story in a magazine. I want readers to think I know how to craft a sentence, imagine a good story, and I want them to get a take-away from what I write. Until my boys take down my website, it’s vedaboydjones.com. No need to include my email address since I’ll no longer be answering all my fan mail!

I have three sons, Landon (Paige), Morgan, and Marshall (Abby), and I still call them boys. When you nurse them as babies, potty-train them, teach them how to hold a fork, it’s hard to see the transition from boys to men. But they are fine men today, and I’m proud of them. I think that’s not only because of nature and nurture, although genetics and a steady family life are important, but mostly because of a mysterious third element of thinking that is unique to each of them.

As they went through growing stages, I tried to remember how I felt at different stages in my life. I always knew I had an invisible safety net in my parents, Raymond and Dorothy Boyd (and my older sister, Elaine), and I hope my boys feel that about me. But I also didn’t want my parents overseeing my life as an adult. These days, I don’t mind my boys tracking me on their phones for my physical welfare, but I don’t want to track them and see where they are or what they’re doing. They deserve privacy.

I have three grandchildren: Jagger, Juliet, and Josephine. While I don’t go to many grandchild activities, it has been a joy to see them grow up and develop their own distinct personalities.

I believe a public library is the most important building in a town, and I think of myself as a lifelong learner. I have three college degrees in history, AA, BA, and MA all from different schools, and an MFA in creative writing from a fourth university. I value the schooling of my book clubs where I have learned to see literature from others’ viewpoints.

I value friendships. I believe in being honest, but I’ve told a few fibs in my life and some white lies to spare feelings. I hope I can be trusted. I may gossip a bit, but if something is told to me in confidence, it goes in the vault.

I can’t complete what my life has been without mentioning I’m not overawed by males, since I grew up with three brothers (Stan, Cecil, and Mike). But when I met Jimmie, I fell under his spell. We were in and out of each other’s lives from the time we met when I was 16 and he was 17, although we didn’t marry until our late 20s. Different locations meant letter writing to stay in touch. When we were back in our hometown at the same time, we got together and talked and talked and kissed. I loved his intelligence, his sense of humor, and his easy-going nature. He changed my life. Like in any marriage, we had ups and downs, but nothing serious. We were a solid team. His spirit came back to me a couple years after he passed. “Don’t fear death. It’s so freeing. When it’s your time, come on over.” I definitely believe in an afterlife, and I’ll be dancing with him again.

My parting words: Do the best you can. Celebrate life, enjoy friendships, treat others the way you want to be treated, respect privacy, learn something, and hug the ones you love.

So…that’s what’s going in my obit. Why not write down what’s important in your life?

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The Alley South of Main: Book Four in the Lost Creek Novel Series

Welcome back to Lost Creek, Arkansas, where Olivia and her likable family of friends are making big changes in their lives and the town. But change doesn’t come easy, and each character wrestles with choices. Olivia, with her gentle wit and a bit of sarcasm, journeys through memories of her late husband and narrates the heartwarming story of friendship and community with a few town secrets thrown in. Of course, former NFL player George shows up time and again to poke his finger in the mix. Although serious topics are introduced, all are handled with a sensitive touch.

Fans of Jan Karon’s Mitford series will enjoy the Lost Creek Novels, a contemporary look at life in a small town. Read and enjoy them now.

Book One: The West End of Main

Book Two: 309 Main Street

Book Three: One Block Down Main

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