THE INKWELL SOUL

Tag: #noregrets

  • Why I’m Crashing My Own Funeral

    Seriously, hear me out on this one. I went to a funeral recently. It was lovely, truly. There were tears, beautiful flowers, and grandchildren telling stories that made everyone laugh and cry in equal measure. But as I sat there, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit jealous.

    Not of the being dead part, mind you – I am not in a rush for that. But I was jealous of the honesty and raw emotion.

    We spend our whole lives being polite, nodding at brunch, and sending “thinking of you” texts. But at a funeral? That’s when the real stuff comes out. That’s when people finally admit that your weird obsession with rocks was actually charming, or that the way you made your home made chocolate chip cookies changed their childhood. (At least I am hoping I am remembered by this.)

    And it hit me: Why on earth should I have to be dead to hear the best stories about myself?!

    With this second round of cancer making itself at home, I’ve decided I am not interested in being the guest of honor who can not enjoy the catering. If I am going to be the subject of a eulogy, I would like to be able to fact-check it (sorry, that is the Virgo in me talking).

    The Ultimate Party Plan

    People often spend their later years “planning” their funerals – picking out favorite verses and hymns or poems and songs. It is practical, but let’s be honest, it is a bit of a chore. (I’ve already had to plan a husband’s funeral and I don’t want that chore for my family.) I do not want to plan a service. I want to plan a party. I want to curate the vibe, the menu, and the laughter. There is something incredibly profound about taking the power back from a diagnosis and saying “if we’re going to talk about my life, let’s do it while I am still living it.”

    A Gift for Both Sides

    I know, some might say it is a bit “main character energy.” But I have realized that this isn’t just for me. It is a weirdly beautiful, healing gift for everyone involved.

    For me: I get the rare treasure of closure. I get to see the ripple effect of my life. We all wonder, “Did I matter? Did I do okay?” I get to hear the answer in the voices of my children, my family and my friends.

    For you: It is a release valve. Usually, we carry our best tributes to the graveside, heavy with the regret of “I wish I’d told them.” By showing up to my own send-off, I am letting you off the hook. You get to say it to my face. You get to cry on my shoulder instead of a headstone. We get to trade the “if onlys” for “I’m so glad we dids.”

    Celebrating the Presence

    Death is a thief, but it doesn’t have to be a party pooper. Most ceremonies are about a person who WAS. I want this to be about the person who IS.

    I want to see the tears, but I want to be able to hand you the tissue. I want to hear the “remember whens” so I can say, “Actually, it was even funnier than that!” I want to say my goodbyes not through a legal will or a pre-recorded video, but with a hug that lingers… just long enough.

    So, consider this my “Save the Date” for the ultimate “Life Premiere.” There will be laughter, there will be stories, and yes, it might be a little awkward – but the best parts of life usually are.

    I have spent my life doing my best to show up for the people I love. I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss the biggest party they ever throw for me.

    So til then…. let’s go make some more memories!

  • The Unbroken Thread: Why I Would Not Change A Thing

    There is a quiet, persistent temptation to look back at the map of our lives and point to the detours. We see the jagged lines of our mistakes, the heavy shadows of the people we should have walked away from sooner, and the silent spaces where we let opportunities slip through our fingers. We imagine that by erasing those moments, we would emerge more polished, more successful, or perhaps more whole.

    But the truth is far more profound: If I were to reach back and pluck out a single regret, I would be erasing the very person I am today.

    To the people who were not good for me: I no longer look at our time as “lost.” You were the hard lessons that taught me the shape of my own boundaries.Through the pain of those connections, I learned what it means to be truly seen, and more importantly, I learned how to see myself. You were the friction that polished my spirit, teaching me the value of my own peace.

    To the careers I didn’t pursue and the jobs I let go: For a long time, I called those “missed opportunities.” But as I look at the children I raised and the home I built, I see they weren’t missed opportunities at all – they were choices. Every hour I spent pouring into my family was an investment in a different kind of legacy. I traded the climb of a corporate ladder for the steady, sacred rhythm of a life lived for others. I didn’t lose my way; I chose a different destination, and that choice has made me rich in ways a paycheck never could.

    To the friends who faded into the background: You were the chapters that had to end so the story could continue. Some of us were meant to walk together for a mile, and some for a lifetime. I carry the echos of our laughter and even the sting of our drifting apart, because both taught me that life is a series of seasons. You taught me how to hold on and, eventually, how to gracefully let go.

    This is the beauty of a life fully lived: We are not static monuments; we are ever-changing landscapes. I am proud of the person who survived the dark nights and the person who thrived in the morning light. I am proud of the mediocre days, the “perfectly imperfect” moments, and the failures that felt final but weren’t.

    We must remember that we are never finished. If there are parts of your reflection today that you do not yet love, take comfort in the fact that tomorrow is already reaching out to change you again. Our experiences are the alchemy that turns our past into wisdom.

    So, I offer no apologies to my past. I ask for no do-overs. I would not erase a single tear or a single stumble. Every “mistake” was a stitch in the fabric of my soul. I am here, I am whole, and I am exactly who I was meant to become.