Sarah Nigbor

There is one TV show that brings me instant comfort every time it comes on: “The Golden Girls.” The one-liners and storylines still make me laugh, even though they’re almost 40 years old. My favorite character is witty schoolteacher Dorothy Zbornak, played by Bea Arthur. I like to think we’re a little bit alike, because her sense of humor and sarcasm match mine. She can whip a zinger with a dead pan face better than any actress I’ve seen.

In an episode I watched recently, Sophia and Rose returned from a friend’s wake. Sophia got the bright idea to hold her own wake – while she was still alive. She wanted to be able to hear all the nice things her friends said about her while she was still on earth. I get where she was coming from, but it didn’t go as planned. Her friends all thought she had died for real (ditzy Rose had been left in charge of invitations), so when she made her appearance they were less than impressed.

This episode has always struck a chord with me. I have absolutely no plans to host my own “living” wake. However, it reminds me to let the people I care about know that I do. I have tried to make an effort to tell people how much they mean to me.  

But I have a confession to make. I did start my own obituary. It can be found on my desktop under the words “Obit If I croak.” Family: Please make note of this in case you need it. And for the love of all that’s holy, I do not want an open casket funeral. While I do not plan on kicking the bucket anytime soon, I am not psychic, so I don’t know when that day is coming. I would love to live to 100, but God might have different ideas. I guess I have to wait and see.

My loved ones can add anything they want to the obituary when the time comes. But they won’t have to hunt for facts they might not know (but should know!), such as where I was born, my parents’ and grandparents’ names, those who preceded me, etc. I’m just trying to save them some work. Who knows. Maybe I’ll outlive them all!

In all seriousness, I also have another confession to make. I wrote the obituary last October when I was in a very dark place. I was bedridden with pneumonia for weeks, brought on by my blasted autoimmune disorder. I could hardly breathe and in between henpecking at the keyboard to finish the paper, I would watch Golden Girls episodes. After the third round of antibiotics didn’t work and the doctor wanted me admitted to the hospital, I can honestly say I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. I never told that to anyone. I didn’t dare verbalize it because what if it came true? God knew my fears and that was enough for me. I was also hit with shingles and uveitis and remained sick pretty much through Jan. 1. Christmas is a blur; I don’t remember most of it.

The good news is I recovered (clearly, I’m writing this). The medication I’m taking for the Ankylosing Spondylitis seems to be doing the trick. While I still have bad days now and then, they are nothing like the dark, somber months of last year. I now know what I need to do to combat them and I force myself to rest when I feel a flare coming on.

My rambling, roundabout point is that none of knows when our time will be. That’s made clear by a couple of sad stories in this week’s edition. It’s important that we live each and every day to the fullest, cherishing even the small moments. Reach out to someone you haven’t talked to in a while. Get together with an old friend. Read the book you’ve been putting off. Watch the “Golden Girls.” Tell someone how you feel. Thank God for your blessings. Make every day count.