thereisafish:

You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.

And at one point you’d hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.

And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.

And you’ll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they’ll be comforted to know your energy’s still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you’re just less orderly. Amen.

• Aaron Freeman

(Source: NPR)

While browsing the Toronto Star a few weeks back, I passed a section that I normally don’t bother with. Buried between the Entertainment pages and the Local Classifieds section, the few sheets of recycled paper called Greater Toronto dealt with stories that didn’t belong anywhere else. Fittingly, it reported various news stories from the Greater Toronto Area; most of them satirical, some shocking and almost all directly irrelevant to someone like me. If you flick forward a few pages however, you come to a section called Deaths, Memorials and Births. It is here that I happened to stop and took a long hard look at something that caught my eye.

Austin Warner

March 10, 1980 to August 31, 2006

It’s now been three years and we still wait for you to pull in the driveway, come in, and say, “You won’t believe what happened today.” We miss your laughter and your stories. You added so much love to our family and you are in our thoughts everyday. We all love you very much, and our hearts ache from the empty feeling that you are not with us anymore. The only hope we have is that one day we can all be together again.

- Always remembered with love, Mom, Dad, Isabelle, Maria, Kevin, Diane and Hayley.

In the past, I would normally skip these pages. Perhaps it was because I’d rather not get sad while reading them or maybe I just wasn’t as mature when it came to death and the dying. But something changed when I read that particular entry. Was it true? Did I suddenly become an obituary analyst? Would my years of elementary and high school education finally serve a higher purpose?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to criticize what was written. It was a lovely display of affection and yearning for the deceased. It was personal but at the same time, a bit generic. Great, I sound like an asshole now… I thought it actually was a well written entry, complete with a story that displayed the emotions that any grieving family member would show. But I felt it was a little too sad, if that’s even possible. The first part was well done, in terms of reeling in a reader with a personal account. But the ending was just plain somber. How could anyone read any further when their heart is breaking?

I believe newspaper memorials serve two purposes: to remember the anniversary of the death of a loved one and to showcase to the world, your love and appreciation for the deceased.

Take this for example.

Katherine McDonald

Katie, this would have been your 50th birthday. You always had the last piece of cake. We all miss sharing that with you and we want to celebrate your memory August 24.

- Love, your family.

Something that particularly stood out with the last entry was its lack of emotion. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I actually think it’s a really good thing. Katherine’s memorial was a display of witty attachment that showcased the fondness for the character of the loved one. Instead of an entry that overflowed with bleak, mournful proclamation, this entry was a simple happy assertion of this person’s life. It’s almost as if the writer of the entry was saying, ‘this was how Katherine was and this is how we were going to remember her.’ You can’t always get that big finish in life, just like in sports. You can’t always go out with that big hurrah, that one last win. Like funerals, I believe memorials should be written with happy undertones. Memories should be joyous, like a party, in celebration of the life that person lived. That’s the type of writing I want for me when I leave this earth. I want for whoever I leave behind to know that I was proud of my accomplishments. I want them to know that I enjoyed my life and that I was happy. Now doesn’t that sound like a good ending? That’s how I want to be remembered.

Jullian Lopez

January 12, 1990 to June 6, 2011.

A complex individual with a knack for the corny side of life, Jullian will be greatly missed. An art junkie and music aficionado, he made it his life goal to spread his knowledge of good movies and tunes throughout the world. Just like a good book, it was hard to let him go. Ever the softie, Jullian kept things close to his heart and shared his love with those who were even closer. We will miss your smile, your face and your insomniac ways. For someone who made sure that proper grammar never be forgotten, Jullian, you were unforgettable.

Now it’s your turn..

Tell me what you’d like your newspaper memorial to say.

Be creative and have fun. Be smart in what you write and go all out. Try to not be generic and depressing; and go ahead, make me laugh.

Have no limits: nobody here is going to judge you.