The day before yesterday I went for a run. I was on vacation so I was running someplace new. My Strava route took me past a cemetery. Cemeteries are pretty good to run in, because the chances of you getting run over by a car are low.
I am also a new runner, so I have to distract myself from thinking about how much discomfort I am in. I did this by reading gravestones. The cemetery I was running in was around in the mid-1800s, so I was getting a kick out of the older dates. Then I came across a couple’s stone — you know, the kind where you are buried next to your spouse? The woman had died, with an epitaph that read: “Honored mother and grandmother”. On the same stone was one of those half-dates, where the man was still obviously alive (1939- ), but he already had his epitaph waiting: “Honored father and grandfather.”
This disturbed me for some reason, and I was trying to get my mind around it. Why did this bother me? Finally I came to the conclusion that this living epitaph was...well, waiting for him. This was his end, the summary of everything that was important to him and about him in the man’s life. It bothered me, because I have no idea what mine would say.