Death

Death is a funny thing, is it not?

Some of my friends recently experienced a loss. The person who died was not my friend but was really popular in the university community. Everyone knew him. Every third tweet or status post was about his death. And all of them had the same thing to say; that he was kind, generous, efficient, productive, intelligent, and was a great leader.

But these were not random epithets. At least to the best of my knowledge. These people were not saying these things because they struggled to find words to describe him. They were not placeholder words. They had substance.

As an undergraduate, I was part of an NGO whose goal was to generally enrich human experiences. One of my jobs as a member of that NGO was to craft birthday wishes — or copies, as the professionals would call it, for it's members. These copies would talk about the virtues of the celebrant, and would wish them good fortune on their birthday.

However, I did not know many of the celebrants since, despite being quite popular in the NGO itself, I was not very close to many people. So I did not actually know them. Since I did not know them it was difficult to talk about their virtues.

So what did I do instead? I wrote placeholders.

Happy Birthday to Lagbaja! We love you so much (perhaps we didn't?) We know how hard you work for the organization (I did not know that), and we know the zeal you show in carrying out your duties (I hardly knew if they carried out their duties or not, talk less of knowing the zeal with which they carried it out). You are a kind (they might as well have been unkind — there was no way to tell) and cheerful person (they might have had no cheer), and we are more than happy to have you with us (that, in fact, may not have been the general mood of the organization).

Placeholders.

In the end the person in question usually (but not always) thanked me and went about their day. I don’t believe they spared any thought on how I just mixed words that I believe described them and made them happy. It was a good social interaction. I did my job, they did theirs, and everyone was happier.

But that was not the case with this guy. When someone said he inspired them it was not empty. They clearly said how. When someone called him a fiery lion, they said how. When someone said he was productive and helped people, they said how. It was all justified. All the platitudes, all the praise, all the acclaim.

Not placeholders.

It got me wondering what someone might say of me when I die. Would they have placeholders, or would they say the truth? Would they be able to point at things I did?

Personally, I don’t think so. Well, at least not yet anyway. I think my family may have tangible things to say about me, and maybe a few of my friends. But outside that? I think I may be subject to even more placeholders than I want. That is if I die now anyway. If I don’t, I suppose the future may have more concrete adventures and achievements for poor Elewa. But now? It does not. And that’s okay. Most people who die in their twenties are subject to placeholders. Most people who die at all suffer the same fate. Most snakes that crawl leave no lasting marks.

I must ask; does it really matter whether or not I get placeholders? Does it matter whether or not you get them? It may matter during your birthday, since that is a celebration you may enjoy. But your funeral is different. As far as I can tell, when you are gone you cannot really tell what happens afterwards. So maybe you should tell yourself, regardless of what happens, that you will not get placeholders. That you will have some impact, and will not just be some random joe. Maybe that is as much happiness as you will get from it anyway.