I've written a huge range of materials in my life, from Led Zeppelin-influenced high school poetry to business journalism, celebrity Q&As with the likes of Abbie Hoffman and Cesar Chavez, movie reviews, corporate proposals, PowerPoint presentations, press releases, video scripts, resume edits for friends, blog posts (you're reading one right now!), open mic presentations, my 2012 memoir and other scurrilous materials. I've also taken classes that involve a writing prompt meant to challenge my creativity.
In that spirit, I’m going to throw out the ultimate writing prompt. Your assignment: write your own obituary. What would you say?
I’m thinking about this following the death of my partner
Naomi’s father on February 25, which I'll always associate with the Russian invasion of Ukraine the previous day. Eric Leiseroff was 96 and had a fascinating
life. I wrote Eric’s obituary that appeared on the website of the funeral home,
along with a very short version for the regional daily newspaper. How did I summarize his
96 years?
Let’s start at the beginning. He was born in Dresden,
Germany in1925 and had the last bar mitzvah in Dresden weeks before the Nazis and their supporters torched the main
synagogue during Kristallnacht. Eric (then Erich) and his mother got out of Germany on one of
the last trains, a nail-biting trip through Germany, France and Spain, arriving in Lisbon, Portugal in mid-June 1941. They sailed on the SS Excalibur to New York, learning upon arrival that Germany had invaded the USSR. Eric quickly learned English and in 1944 he volunteered for the US Army. Assigned to the 89th
Infantry Division, known as the "Rolling W," he put his German fluency to work interrogating prisoners in
Germany and Austria. Eric was with one of the first groups of GIs to reach the Ohrdruf concentration camp.
He returned to the U.S. in 1946, just 20 years old, in
pursuit of what he called “a boring life.” He spent 57 years at one job, as a
salesman of “fancy paper” used, for example, for linings of perfume boxes. He married Cecelia Katz in 1950 and they were loving
partners for 68 years.
The piece earned respectful reviews on LinkedIn, where I posted
it. My younger brother read it, then called to say, “I want you to write my
obituary!”
“Let’s talk about that in 30 years,” I said.
Or maybe now. Writing your obituary in advance is like prudent estate planning. You never know when it’ll come in handy. I’ve always remembered somebody who did exactly that. I read a memorial in the Princeton Alumni Weekly for Richard R. Uhl '39. He was a creative professional, starting as a musician and producer of radio and TV shows and eventually becoming executive creative director of an ad agency. Then I came to the last paragraph of his memorial:
Our class secretary from 1981 to 2007 and memorialist until 2010, Dick wrote 453 columns and 418 memorials, including all but the last two sentences of this one. The class expresses deep gratitude for his faithful chronicling of our lives and our deaths.
That stopped me cold, so much that I included it in this blog post. I can see myself doing exactly what Richard Uhl did. I’ve joked that my obituary would be
a rewrite of my JDate profile of 20 years ago, what a swell guy I am or, given
the circumstances, was. I’m reminded of what Winston Churchill said: “History
will be kind to me for I intend to write it.”
But how do you capture a life beyond the basics? What would
you, dear reader, or I write about ourselves in a final summing-up for those who remain? Something
comforting and yet wryly self-observant, the high points and the proverbial warts
and all?
I wrestled with that issue when I spoke at my father's memorial service in 2018 at the Veterans Administration cemetery in Rockland County, New York. Our relationship had been very rocky but at a memorial attended by his widow and friends I wanted to be fair and positive. I wrote this the morning of the memorial:
My father lived 92 years and he lived each day fully. Like Frank Sinatra sang, he did it his way. Along the way, he had a tremendous influence on me—my interest in the Ivy League, my interest in Judaism, and blues music and even opera. I’m also a camera guy. I didn’t name my son after a car, however. So, a lot of what I am today is a reflection of what he was and what he imparted to me. His legacy will linger on and may his memory be a blessing. Baruch Dayan Ha-Emet—Blessed be the True Judge.
That was tough; writing about myself is even more challenging. In thinking about this piece, mental patterns
from decades past flooded back: self-denigrating and pitying, focused on failures and
unmet potential. I brooded over comments my father threw at me, like the time he said I walked like a girl (what teen wants to hear that?), and when a significant other termed me “a self-involved prick
who just doesn’t get it.” But with and perspective, I’ve moved past being my own worst critic to a more accepting stage. I’d
try to say that in my memorial.
Maybe I’d do multiple versions of it for different audiences. I’d
need one for the back of the book memorials of the Princeton Alumni Weekly, of
course Then there would be a final Facebook entry complete with favorite photos spanning a lifetime, since I
always like to illustrate my writings.
Given the world’s state, I may be whistling past the graveyard here. Maybe Vladimir Putin will work out his psychological issues by starting World War III. At that point the world will need a lot of obituaries and mine would get lost in the shuffle. Again, Winston Churchill had a fitting comment from 1941: “If we win, nobody will care. If we lose, there will be nobody to care.”
But I’ll end, in every sense of the word, on a high note, something I’ve said before: There’s no statute of limitation on changing your life. Never stop trying, or thinking your enjoyment of life is over because you reached an arbitrary sell-by date. Circumstances change, as we all learned the past two years. Challenges arise, history moves on, we get a step slower, but it's in our ability to steer our lives in new and surprising directions. I know, because I am still steering. And writing about it now and in that final writing prompt.
