Today in lifespan psychology class, we covered death and dying.
Ms Lindsay got all of us to write an eulogy for ourselves.
And this was what I wrote:
I’ve always thought that memories were the most treasured thing. And I thought that’d be what I want people to remember when I die. Memories. Of me.
But then I realised that after a while, say maybe 5 or 10 years, you’d probably forget the way I smiled, the way I laughed. The things I said to you and the conversations we shared. You’d probably not remember the times we spent together, the meals we had. You can’t remember these things forever. You just…can’t.
And I don’t need you to.
These are the things that keep you forever trapped in memories that live in another world, a world that you don’t. You’d be forever stuck in a place that doesn’t exist. And life will always be a blur, a mess.
I don’t want your life to be a mess.
But there’s one thing, if possible that I’d want you to remember about me. Just one. If you could.
And it’s how I’ve loved you.
I want to make a difference, no matter how small or big, just knowing that my life was something that gave you something in yours. And I hope I gave you love. Because that’s what’s really left in the end, when my bones decay and my body turns to dust.
And I hope that my love would be, no matter how small, a window of a much greater love out there.
Should you have known of it already, I hope I made it clearer. Should you have yet to know of it I hope you get to know it one day.
If you’re crying, know that I’m truly honoured to have meant something.
If you’re not, well, thank you for taking time out to come to my funeral anyways. Hahah.
As you leave, and hopefully remembering this love, remember your life as well. Mine’s long and gone. I had my chance, you still have yours.
To live. To learn. To love.