Let Us Talk of Epitaphs

I was struck breathless recently, hearing this soliloquy from Shakespeare’s Richard II for the first time in a magnificent PBS production. The king has just been informed of the execution of his friends, and his poignant response begins with this lament, compelled to confront death without reassurance or pretense:

No matter where; of comfort no man speak:
Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
Let's choose executors and talk of wills:
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?

My husband and I have an appointment at the mortuary this week. It’s time for us to talk of epitaphs. For months, I couldn’t even face writing Noah’s dates, much less imagine words for his gravestone. Coming up with the right message feels like the hardest exam I’ve ever taken, with an answer I can never get right. These words will be written in stone, outlasting all of us. Nothing could be more permanent. The epitaph that “writes sorrow on the bosom of the earth” and the placement of the stone over his grave will seal the permanence of our son’s horrific and untimely death. 

At the moment we are leaning toward the simple. We can never capture who he was and how he lived in a few lines. So we gravitate toward the heartfelt:

            Much loved

            Much missed

            Forever in our hearts

I am not sure this is enough. Will it feel right in ten months, much less ten or twenty years? I want some summation of his spirit and talents to be memorialized, along with our love. But where to begin? A list of interests and hobbies seems trivial, more for a resume or a Facebook site than an epitaph. Maybe we can choose a line that hints at this, along with our love, like one of the following:

            Adventurer

            Tender soul    

            He made things happen

            Bunsen burner of joy

            Full of life

            So many gifts

But these feel like lines from a book or movie ad.

I am leaning toward the last line. So many gifts that Noah possessed, so many that he shared with family and friends over the years. The notion of gifts is not wholly comfortable now, with us still so wounded by his suicide and blind to any spiritual gifts it might eventually yield. Still, the gifts Noah had and shared in life are how I would like to remember him and have others remember him. 

So many gifts, so much promise.

At a loss for words.