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In The Chronicle obituaries this week, I was struck by a unique goodbye from a gentleman I never met. The obituary feels as though it was written in Michael De Simone's own voice, and after reading it I feel that I know this grandly bearded man in a small but meaningful way.
His opening words speak plainly.
“Michael De Simone regrettably informs you that he is no longer alive.
“This was not the plan.
“He expected to be alive somewhat longer in order to do many more things. Unfortunately, there was some measure of disagreement between his mind and his body, and the arguments made by his body were, in the end, more persuasive.”
He goes on to describe his life, his family (Daisy, his high school sweetheart and the love of his life, their two daughters and their three grandsons), and to say goodbye in his own way and on his own quirky terms.
“He exited the world the way he entered it: eating pizza. He was 51 years old when he died, which is young for a man but quite old for a dog, so he left the world at peace in the knowledge that he outlived many, many dogs.”
An early death (even if you live longer than our four-legged friends) is nothing to celebrate, but there can be a thin but important silver lining coming from the knowledge that the end is near.
That sad reality clarifies the mind and focuses a person on what matters in whatever time is left. That’s an old concept dating back to the classical Greeks and Romans, and continued by philosophically minded folks for the last two thousand years. It’s embodied in the term “memento mori,” Latin for “the remembrance of death.”
To remind yourself that life is short isn’t morbid (even if Middle Age scholars were known to keep a skull on their desk, which might be a bit much). I think a dose of memento mori can make life more vivid and meaningful.
A man who carries De Simone’s playful spirit, the humorist Garrison Keillor, puts it this way: “Hurry up! Do it — get it done. You got work to do. Don’t put this off and don’t take the long view. Life is today and tomorrow, and if you are lucky, may be next week.”
I’ve long thought about writing my own obituary as an exercise in self-awareness and perspective. I doubt I could write anything as funny as De Simone’s finale, but maybe it’s a birthday present I’ll give to myself as I look ahead to turning 50.
I am grateful for every day I have left. I can’t count them, but perhaps a focus on how I would summarize them will help me make the most of whatever blessings and moments are still to come.
Speaking of memento mori, this week my son and I took a tour of Mountain View Cemetery in Centralia. We were looking for the grave of his great-great grandparents, Charlie and Elsie Mittge. I had visited their shared gravestone once before, decades ago, with my grandpa when he was alive.
My gauzy memory didn’t quite carry me to the place of their gravesites, but we had an enjoyable stroll through the meadows and trees of their final resting place.
That afternoon I reached out to some of the volunteer caretakers of that cemetery, the good folks with the Restore Mountain View Cemetery group on Facebook.
Two stalwart members of their dedicated group, Craig Steepy and Diane Stedham-Jewell, quickly responded with a detailed map showing me exactly the lot and section of the cemetery where my grandparents were laid to rest.
I thanked them profusely, and I was not at all surprised to see them featured this week in a Chronicle story about their ongoing efforts to take care of this pioneer graveyard that has had trouble finding the right owner to care for it.
If you’re looking for a way to get connected to our history, consider joining these good folks bringing the past into the future. They have work parties out there. They also have a GoFundMe campaign to help pay for their ongoing volunteer restoration work.
Giving an old graveyard new life is a unique and powerful embodiment of memento mori.
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A footnote: De Simone’s obituary touched many people. It had almost 20,000 responses and was shared more than 1,600 times in just the first 18 hours after being posted to The Chronicle’s Facebook page.
And so, as you enjoy this beautiful day, perhaps with renewed purpose as you consider its fleeting briefness, we’ll give the final words in this column to De Simone’s final words:
“In lieu of flowers, he asks that you give your love freely, especially to those you hold most dear, because you never know when you might have to leave in a hurry.”
Brian Mittge is a community enthusiast who has written for The Chronicle since 2000 as a reporter, editor and columnist. He can be reached at brianmittge@hotmail.com.
