For the past few nights, the sudden and unexpected death of James Gandolfini, the actor who made Tony Soprano a household name, has dominated the news. His life and legacy have been remembered by countless colleagues and friends, and the news of his death overshadowing the deaths of others, whether famous or not.
Two weeks ago, we were saddened by the news of an old family friend who had died alone in his Toronto condo. His death shocked us all—but, we learned later, was not as unexpected as many of us thought. As it turns out, we learned, he had become a recluse and an alcoholic, and his addiction had spiraled out of control in the last year or two—the cause, we now know, for his death. But we didn’t know him as an alcoholic, nor I am certain, would he have wanted to be remembered that way. Last week, friends paid tribute to him in a quiet memorial service in Toronto. My daughter attended and represented our family. We—and others—chose to remember our friend, the gentle soul who was always there if anyone needed him and who, despite time and distance, remained steadfast and loyal in his friendship.
His obituary appeared in the Toronto newspaper sometime after his death, but I didn’t bother to search for it, not interested in reading someone else’s words about the man I knew as a dear family friend. I wanted to remember his regular presence at our Sunday dinners, his quiet demeanor, his fun, and how my daughters came to love him as an uncle. I wondered if, given the chance, how he might have written his own obituary–how he would have wanted to be remembered by those of us who knew him.
In the January 16, 2009 issue of The Huffington Post, Lloyd Garvey wrote about writing one’s own obituaries. “A while back,” he wrote, “somebody quite wise – I think it was my rabbi – suggested that people should write their own obituaries. Now. Regardless of age or medical condition. That way, you’ll think about how you want to be remembered and what you want to accomplish in the rest of your life.”
Leadership guru Peter Drucker told a story in The Daily Drucker: 366 Days of Insight and Motivation for Getting the Right Things Done: “When I was thirteen I had an inspiring teacher of religion who one day went right through the class of boys asking each one, “What do you want to be remembered for? None of us, of course, could give an answer. So, he chuckled and said, “I didn’t expect you to be able to answer it. But if you still can’t answer it by the time you’re fifty, you will have wasted your life.”
The question, “What do you want to be remembered for?” is one, he stated, that induces you to renew yourself. You’re forced to see yourself as a different person: the person you want to become.
Marilyn Nelson answers the question in a poem, “Cover Photograph,” using the line, “I want to be remembered” in each stanza to describe the different aspects of herself that she wants others to remember:
I want to be remembered
As a voice that was made to be singing
The lullaby of shadows
As a child fades into a dream…
I want to be remembered
as an autumn under maples:
a show of incredible leaves…
I want to be remembered
with a simple name, like Mama:
as an open door from creation,
as a picture of someone you know.
(In Mama’s Promises: Poems, 1985)
My friend’s death, like the death of James Gandolfini this week, got me to thinking about my own legacy—about how I’d like to be remembered by those who know me. What about you? How you want to be remembered? Who is the person you want to become before you die?
This week, try writing your own obituary or eulogy. What would you say about yourself? Think about the things that really matter, the things that will ultimately define your life’s legacy, and the way in which you would like to be remembered by others. You might even begin as Nelson did with the line, “I want to be remembered…”