"I'm not dead"

"I'm not dead" 

"What?"
"Nothing. There's your ninepence."
"I'm not dead."
"'Ere, he says he's not dead."
"Yes he is."
"I'm not."
"He isn't."
"Well he will be soon..."

Ok, so what spurred on the little recitation of Monty Python was what I spent my day doing. As most of you know (or for those who happen to stumble onto this site somehow, who don't - hi Bridget) I work at a convent - an honest to goodness nunnery. Now, at this convent there are a number of sick nuns, a few of whom are getting sicker now that some sort of nasty flu virus is currently stomping through the infirmary.

In order to prepare for the inevitable, my boss, Sister G, suggested that we get a head start and start preparing. Preparing what, you ask - obituaries. So I spent the entire day writing the obituary of a woman a) that I don't know and, more importantly, that b), is not dead.

I think you will agree that this is rather strange way to spend a day. Even though this is to be used by the Archbishop and others after she does die (which might be tonight or in another ten years, it is not certain that she is going to keel over this minute, although chances are it will be sooner rather than later) I had a hard time writing in the past tense. She is after all still alive. But it does seem a bit silly to write the thing and then go back and edit it after she passes away.

I can't imagine how people can actually make a career out of writing obits for newspapers. It just feels rather morbid. I suppose it is natural that we want to be celebrated when we die, with much gnashing of teeth and beating of breast, and just a few teeny lies making us sound like heroes, but I imagine having someone who knew the person, ie who is not me do it might not be such a bad idea. Having a stranger write is seems a bit off. And more than a bit morbid for the writer who is not used to dealing with mortality.

Makes you think about the fragility of life or something. Or perhaps just Monty Python.
rgsc