In a previous blog, we introduced you to the work of death doulas, aka end of life doulas. Our new friend, Wendy Longacre Brown, shares a bit more about doing legacy work with her clients. Epilogg believes it too: Stories matter. For everyone.
Step 1: Don’t write an obituary! Create an Epilogg instead. The traditional obituary limits you with only so many words and a tiny black & white image – something that could never show the colorful and complicated lives we want to celebrate. Epilogg helps you bring the life to your tribute. For free.
Educate us! What is a death doula?
A death doula–-also known as an end of life doula–empowers a dying person or their family to create a meaningful transition by providing s emotional, spiritual, physical and educational support. It’s never too early to bring a death doula on, and it’s never too late.
When’s the last time you clicked on or liked an obituary? Exactly. The traditional obituary doesn’t get much attention in our news diet. Doesn’t that feel strange? That someone’s actual life story – told at the moment when it means the most – gets lost in the shuffle of, well, life. The exceptions — the viral obituaries — catch our eyes and hearts because someone went beyond the bulleted list of careers and “survived-bys” to tell a story that’s MORE. More real, more truthful. Even funny. You won’t find any of that in the “how to write an obituary” tips
First thing every morning, my dad used to scan the obituary section of the local newspaper. He’d say, “If I don’t see my name, it’s a good day.” True. I’ve taken to reading the obituaries too, though not every day. It’s a rather strange experience to be looking through a list of dead people for someone you know. I find most obits are cold, short death notices that tell you when there might be a service or how to send a memorial donation to the deceased’s favorite charity. Valuable information yes, but not really an end of life exclamation point,
If I died today, I’m sure my nearly 60 years of life would be summed up in an obituary a couple of paragraphs long. I’m stoic by nature, so the humble understatement should probably be considered a compliment or at least appropriate. I think the obituary I wrote when my dad died was about four paragraphs. My dad was 90. It took a lot of effort to squish 90 years of living into four short paragraphs when the military and relatives took up two of them. It certainly didn’t do justice to a life well-lived but I’m sure my dad
I’m often terrible remembering names and details so it’s surprising how distinctly I can still remember when I heard the news that a loved one died or how vividly I can recall the last time I saw them alive. Jennie was one of those people. I don’t remember her obituary. I do remember her eulogy no one heard. Jennie was like another grandmother to me growing up. I saw her almost every day. When she died, I was in college across the state line. I remember riding the first bus home for her funeral. It was dark, rumbling down the