Whether you’re paging through The New York Times, taking a glance at your hometown paper or catching up with a friend at your favorite breakfast spot, it’s common to see or hear “he/she died peacefully” and “____ was loved by all.”
I’m calling bullshit.
Throughout my 34 years on this earth I’ve met plenty of pricks and tortured souls. It’s long past time to write an honest obituary on behalf of everyone who’s received the whitewash treatment from grieving loved ones in a vain attempt to save face for the living.
Here goes nothing…
Jane, 83, of Timbuktu, died a physically and emotionally painful death anywhere but home on June 3. Her seizing, hacking, and rattling were matched only by the fear in her eyes as she contemplated the bitter hell that awaited her on the other side.
After spending her youth tormenting parents, teachers, and contemporaries alike, she bedded the first man she was able to fool at the local watering hole. Despite the poor match, they married three years later after realizing the odds of either of them finding true love were minimal at best.
The pitter patter of little feet came two years into their marriage when she gave birth to a little girl. It was a day she would always regret, as little Cecelia cut into her day-drinking, chain-smoking, and crossword puzzle time.
Known by her neighbors and family (she had no real friends) as an ornery old bag, she spent her golden years (more like tarnished silver years if we’re being honest) berating the staff at the local nursing home. Especially the “damned foreigners” who she was fond of spitting on. After her death, the heirs who could be persuaded to show up were scarred for life as they cleaned out her expansive collection of “massagers”.
She was survived by those unfortunate enough to have memories of her. Our gain is Lucifer’s loss.