THE FUNERAL
I started writing creatively again after many decades hibernating, because of something I heard at a funeral service, three years ago. My uncle’s wife, on my mother side, had died after many years of living with Alzheimer’s. The illness had blanked out her personality many years before that, and it was a great shame, because she was a kind woman, good mother and warm always.
At the funeral service, the priest was holding a speech about who she was and how her life had unfolded. She was reduced to a story. We are all a single story in the end. The priest said in his story about her, that she had often written poetry about many things, but she never kept any of them. Not one poem remains of her entire life.
I thought that was one of the saddest things that I had ever heard. I swore to myself then and there, that I would never let that happen to me. I would chronicle all my creative writing from then on. I would make damn sure that there would be a good catalog of my creative writing existing when I am dead and my story is told. Mostly for the sons and family, but also for the cosmos.
A.G. Munson
