facebook questions

a relative on facebook asked:
If you were to depart (die) this earth today what would they say about your life? Would it differ from what you would want them to say? If so how and why would it differ? I am just curious.

i answered:
if i were to die today, it would probably be said that i tried to live righteous. i was (am) known to be unapologetically and uncomfortably honest, and it’s something my friends and family count(ed) on. helpful in my way, with high standards for my self and daughter, always trying to transcend poverty, the un-/under-education, and ignorance of my family… it would be said that i sacrificed and postponed my creative pursuits in order to provide my child with every opportunity a single, black mother can give her child in this society. i tried to put her in the right classes, and in the right schools, and in the right frame of mind to have the best american life possible, and meanwhile, i toiled away quietly and slowly on my own written legacy. they might also say that i postponed it all too long…. some might say i lived a double life, always navigating between caution and recklessness, nutrition and pleasure, conservativeness and exoticism. i was a party girl. i loved to laugh and dance and drink wine and talk loud and use curse words and laugh at this crazy old world. i loved to smile and love and use big words and talk “country.” and like much of young, black, white, old, latino, female, male, you-name-it-america, i jumped on board recognizing what obama meant to my generation and to this moment in time. i voted. and i cared. and i partied in the streets of chicago when he won. i became a hyde parker and embraced that status, even as i banged on my walls late at night to silence my neighbors’ surround sound. i took voyeuristic photos of the daily madness on my block and distributed them to friends… i told endless tales of what it was like living in chicago, on the south side, down the stret from obama and also from monkey man and a particular crackhead. i loved chicago and as much as i did, i always planned to leave. i loved traveling and knew i could never call any place my permanent home until i’d seen at least ten other cities. they’d say i was both distant with people and fiercely attached to those i loved. they’d say i took risks in love and lived without regrets. they’d say i was careful with my life and though i was not at all religious, i was reverent and honorific of the opportunities that lie before everyone who was blessed with the ability to breathe. they’d say i marveled at the little things, like colors in a painting, a baby’s smile, a perfectly edited manuscript, or an outfit or home or life well put together. they’d say sometimes i cared too much but said too little when it mattered most and i beat myself up perpetually about it…if they knew…. they’d say i loved order and hated junk, and that the only things i really hoarded were words and emails and digital images… but i’m getting away from the question here… would that differ from what i’d want them to say? only slightly, i suppose. i support the truth when it comes, and i actually try to live as if i’m creating my obituary every day. i’m proud of my few accomplishments but i’m acutely aware that i am an underachiever. i am my own harshest critic, and so i couldn’t be mad or expect them to say something other than the truth (mainly because, i’d be, you know…dead.) but i suppose it would be grand to distrubute my published works at the funeral, to at least have bound volumes of the many words i’d written throughout my life available to those interested in reading…. they would say i was a writer – published or not. and as long as that was known (and that i was a mother and a flesh-and-blood woman and a lover), i suppose that would be ok.