While walking one hot day on the Rogue Trail, several weeks back, feeling sorry for myself for all my supposed woes, I started thinking about obituaries and how inadequate they sometimes seem if they're a woman's. Yes, "she was a consummate birder" - big deal, everyone's thinking; in otherwords, she was a housewife, a nobody.
Whereas a man's obituary is often a long compendium of what he did, accomplished or published, etc., as though the measure of our life equates with our resumé - the lengthier, the better.
The only true measure is that we lived and loved and that we are (hopefully!) dearly missed by our family and friends. Nothing else matters in the end.
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