Oftimes, over the years, I’ve wondered what people would say about me after I die. I’ve wondered if they would speak ill of me. I’ve wondered if I would only be remembered for the poor decisions I’ve made — and I’ve made my share of them. I’ve wondered if Will would remember me as a good mom. I’ve wondered if Mia would remember me as a good grandmother. While I was still married, I wondered if my then-husband would have been broken or if he would have been glad to slam the casket lid shut. I’ve wondered if my friends would be broken hearted. I’ve wondered if my church family would miss my presence. I’ve wondered if my family would be lost. With the recent death of my mother, I started mulling over those thoughts again.
The thing that I want people to remember most about me after I’m gone is that I believed in living life to the fullest regardless of the situation. I’m 48 years old, survived a tumultuous, extremely abusive marriage, and have lost my mentor, but I’m relishing in a better place in life. For many years, I allowed another person, my circumstances and my situation dictate what I thought of myself and how I lived my life. Although I put up a good, good fight along the way, I was ultimately beaten down mentally and emotionally. Eventually, I was reduced to a shell of the woman I was before that marriage and the one I am today.
We all have a set number of days to live in the realm of flesh and blood. I want people to remember me with the smile and laughter I always tried to impart on any situation. I want people to remember that regardless of what was going on around me, my faith in God trumped everything my flesh tried to dispell. I want people to feel a warmth when the think of me after I’m gone.