[dropcap]I [/dropcap]enjoy reading the obituaries in the local newspaper. Some of them are clever, some are sentimental, and others are a little ridiculous – I like the ridiculous ones the best. I usually read them aloud to Jamie in the mornings.

“Brother So-And-So has gone on to buck-dance with Jesus in Glory.” Or something like, “Sister What’s-Her-Name rode God’s private jet into the sky. First class.” Or how about: “Brother Billy-Bob-Brewski was in the US Navy, and traveled the world over. He is survived by his two sons in Des Moines, Iowa, along with his six children in Honalulu, his two daughters in Yokosuka, and three boys in Cuba.”

This morning, I suddenly wondered about my own obituary, and what it might say.

“Jamie,” I said. “Will you put an obituary in the paper when I die?”

Jamie shrugged, “Yeah, probably.”

“What will it say?”

“Depends on how much it costs.”

My wife is the cheapest person I know, so cheap that she’s still waiting for the Bible to come out in paperback.

“The newspaper charges by the word,” I told her.

“Oh, well then that’s easy, I’d just write, ‘Sean’s dead.’”

“Well, I think the newspaper gives the first five words free. I mean we’re talking about my legacy here.”

“Hmm,” the wordsmith thought for a moment. “Okay, then I’d say, ‘Sean’s dead, sailboat for sale.’”

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