__________________________________
M/Eulogy
By Stephanie Kemp
M/Eulogy
By Stephanie Kemp
“Stephanie wrote a little something for today. I bet you didn’t know she was a writer.
Or more specifically, that she was exactly like Emily Dickinson.”
___________________
I am so sorry and sad to be typing this (especially if it is a Saturday or Sunday.)
The only fate worse than typing this would be having somebody else typing it. (This is obviously not true, given the reason we are gathered here today, but I have always been a firm believer in personal accountability and owning your narrative, for better and worse. By the way, there is no better or worse in real life. “Or” was just a typo that went uncorrected for so long that people started believing it.) Please remind my daughters of this the next time you see them, and then make sure they know that leaving them was my real worst fate. (Also make sure they read the 563 poems and 89 personal essays I wrote that will explain everything, again….especially because I’m pretty sure they never read them.)
The good news is, I have had such a good time in my ________ days that there is a ton I can’t wait to say!
Now, on a normal day (especially if it was Monday - Friday) I might procrastinate a little bit…
I might:
Have an extra cup of coffee in bed with my husband (or alone!).
Eat the crust that wasn’t mine, after finishing my own eggs (usually) or cereal (sometimes). On cereal days I would definitely eat the crust, unless the cereal was oatmeal. (On oatmeal days there would be dark chocolate before lunch, usually much more than I had originally planned, with whatever chocolate was left before lunch being eaten before or after dinner.)
Are you still with me?
I might also:
Take an extra long walk and try not to feel guilty for pretending to be on the phone when I run into you at the top of the hill (even if I love you, which I probably do).
I might then:
Call you the next day to see if you want to make a plan to have a glass of wine,
Before canceling it.
(Or not!)
I would definitely procrastinate on my work, especially if it was a writing day and there was no call time to arrive on a set. (I have always loved rules even though I hate them.)
But, as this is my eulogy, there is also some bad news:
I am not ready.
This doesn’t (necessarily) mean I am afraid, but I can tell by my M/Eulogy tone and word count (432, not including the introduction) that I am definitely not ready. This feels a little defeatist to me, given that I talk(ed) such a big game.
(And let’s face it, no matter what day you find yourself writing your eulogy on, it is not normal.)
But this is not your problem to solve. What’s done is done. (It’s just strange to think that I mean this literally, now.)
________
I spent a lot of time saying goodbye to people I love. And every time I did this, the thought of leaving became (at least slightly) less scary. My mom used to say, “Wherever we go from here, at least we go together!” While I never got near the level of Pollyanna Living and Feels that my mom did, I did get to have 52 years of her nature and nurture. (I am probably with her* right now, in case this makes you feel better. I know it makes me feel better. And we are probably having fun….with a bunch of other fun people.)
I also spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to say to my loved ones’ loved ones when they lost their loved ones. (Did you know I was a minister?)
I spoke with:
Children (this includes me).
Partners (please tell my husband that I still think he is unbearably handsome, and would give anything for more coffee, mostly but always with him).
Siblings (my sisters were my everything, so please don’t cancel your wine with them - they will be very sad…just don’t believe everything they tell you!).
Friends (oh my god I HAD THE WORLD’S BEST FRIENDS! So good that I hope someone will continue to host the monthly “Soup Sundays” I held each winter for all the people I loved but never got to see! Don’t feel badly if you have never heard of my Soup Sundays or weren’t invited. I never had - or got, or kept - my shit together long enough to actually make them happen…..but I still think Soup Sundays is a fantastic idea - take it!)
________
Sometimes loved ones cry alone in their bedroom.
Sometimes loved ones try to breathe in a massive church filled with all the people.
Sometimes loved ones weep:
On a walk,
In the car,
On the train,
Going pee,
Going home,
Going crazy.
Eating ice cream,
Reading (or rereading) a page,
Cleaning,
Cheating,
Falling down,
Breaking up,
Looking both ways,
Not seeing that car,
Swearing.
Denying
Quitting.
Trying.
Loved ones are any and everywhere you can possibly imagine.
And whatever they need to do is fine. Please don’t judge (or let anyone else judge) them.
________
Sometimes, in my head, I thought I might be the (or a) person able to help the loved ones navigate their road of grief.
Always, in my bones, I knew there would be no off-ramp - just a never ending, forever winding, impossibly beautiful, utterly devastating, sometimes boring but never uneventful, un-knowable (un-mappable) journey.
Grief is an unsolvable puzzle that has actually never asked to be solved.
It’s just that we can’t help ourselves. Even when we look, feel, act, sound, think we are at our lowest points, and even when we are acting like assholes (remember there is no “or,” so everyone is an asshole sometimes), we keep trying to help each other, because….
Guess what? (More good news!)
People are Good. (I know what you’re thinking - you’re wrong. And if you are right I am glad I am not here to see it.)
________
This whole life thing really is a heartbreaking (and making) shit show.
We all take turns losing people so we all have to take turns showing up, no matter how hard it is.
Thank you for showing up for me.
(Especially if I pretended I was on the phone or ever hurt your feelings.)
Take care of yourselves and each other.
I promise I (or someone) will pay you back.
And I will prepare the field (and/or picnic) for your arrival.
You can trust me. I am (still) a minister.
*And Dad.
And Ben.
And…………………………………………………………………………xx
Special Thanks to Father Chris.
Or more specifically, that she was exactly like Emily Dickinson.”
___________________
I am so sorry and sad to be typing this (especially if it is a Saturday or Sunday.)
The only fate worse than typing this would be having somebody else typing it. (This is obviously not true, given the reason we are gathered here today, but I have always been a firm believer in personal accountability and owning your narrative, for better and worse. By the way, there is no better or worse in real life. “Or” was just a typo that went uncorrected for so long that people started believing it.) Please remind my daughters of this the next time you see them, and then make sure they know that leaving them was my real worst fate. (Also make sure they read the 563 poems and 89 personal essays I wrote that will explain everything, again….especially because I’m pretty sure they never read them.)
The good news is, I have had such a good time in my ________ days that there is a ton I can’t wait to say!
Now, on a normal day (especially if it was Monday - Friday) I might procrastinate a little bit…
I might:
Have an extra cup of coffee in bed with my husband (or alone!).
Eat the crust that wasn’t mine, after finishing my own eggs (usually) or cereal (sometimes). On cereal days I would definitely eat the crust, unless the cereal was oatmeal. (On oatmeal days there would be dark chocolate before lunch, usually much more than I had originally planned, with whatever chocolate was left before lunch being eaten before or after dinner.)
Are you still with me?
I might also:
Take an extra long walk and try not to feel guilty for pretending to be on the phone when I run into you at the top of the hill (even if I love you, which I probably do).
I might then:
Call you the next day to see if you want to make a plan to have a glass of wine,
Before canceling it.
(Or not!)
I would definitely procrastinate on my work, especially if it was a writing day and there was no call time to arrive on a set. (I have always loved rules even though I hate them.)
But, as this is my eulogy, there is also some bad news:
I am not ready.
This doesn’t (necessarily) mean I am afraid, but I can tell by my M/Eulogy tone and word count (432, not including the introduction) that I am definitely not ready. This feels a little defeatist to me, given that I talk(ed) such a big game.
(And let’s face it, no matter what day you find yourself writing your eulogy on, it is not normal.)
But this is not your problem to solve. What’s done is done. (It’s just strange to think that I mean this literally, now.)
________
I spent a lot of time saying goodbye to people I love. And every time I did this, the thought of leaving became (at least slightly) less scary. My mom used to say, “Wherever we go from here, at least we go together!” While I never got near the level of Pollyanna Living and Feels that my mom did, I did get to have 52 years of her nature and nurture. (I am probably with her* right now, in case this makes you feel better. I know it makes me feel better. And we are probably having fun….with a bunch of other fun people.)
I also spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to say to my loved ones’ loved ones when they lost their loved ones. (Did you know I was a minister?)
I spoke with:
Children (this includes me).
Partners (please tell my husband that I still think he is unbearably handsome, and would give anything for more coffee, mostly but always with him).
Siblings (my sisters were my everything, so please don’t cancel your wine with them - they will be very sad…just don’t believe everything they tell you!).
Friends (oh my god I HAD THE WORLD’S BEST FRIENDS! So good that I hope someone will continue to host the monthly “Soup Sundays” I held each winter for all the people I loved but never got to see! Don’t feel badly if you have never heard of my Soup Sundays or weren’t invited. I never had - or got, or kept - my shit together long enough to actually make them happen…..but I still think Soup Sundays is a fantastic idea - take it!)
________
Sometimes loved ones cry alone in their bedroom.
Sometimes loved ones try to breathe in a massive church filled with all the people.
Sometimes loved ones weep:
On a walk,
In the car,
On the train,
Going pee,
Going home,
Going crazy.
Eating ice cream,
Reading (or rereading) a page,
Cleaning,
Cheating,
Falling down,
Breaking up,
Looking both ways,
Not seeing that car,
Swearing.
Denying
Quitting.
Trying.
Loved ones are any and everywhere you can possibly imagine.
And whatever they need to do is fine. Please don’t judge (or let anyone else judge) them.
________
Sometimes, in my head, I thought I might be the (or a) person able to help the loved ones navigate their road of grief.
Always, in my bones, I knew there would be no off-ramp - just a never ending, forever winding, impossibly beautiful, utterly devastating, sometimes boring but never uneventful, un-knowable (un-mappable) journey.
Grief is an unsolvable puzzle that has actually never asked to be solved.
It’s just that we can’t help ourselves. Even when we look, feel, act, sound, think we are at our lowest points, and even when we are acting like assholes (remember there is no “or,” so everyone is an asshole sometimes), we keep trying to help each other, because….
Guess what? (More good news!)
People are Good. (I know what you’re thinking - you’re wrong. And if you are right I am glad I am not here to see it.)
________
This whole life thing really is a heartbreaking (and making) shit show.
We all take turns losing people so we all have to take turns showing up, no matter how hard it is.
Thank you for showing up for me.
(Especially if I pretended I was on the phone or ever hurt your feelings.)
Take care of yourselves and each other.
I promise I (or someone) will pay you back.
And I will prepare the field (and/or picnic) for your arrival.
You can trust me. I am (still) a minister.
*And Dad.
And Ben.
And…………………………………………………………………………xx
Special Thanks to Father Chris.