By Gary Bennett
This article appears in the Summer 2025 edition of Frederick News-Post’s “Prime Time” magazine.
Let’s face it, we’re all going to die. And since we are readers of Prime Time, we all know that our time could come at any time.
(As much as we appreciate the editors giving this magazine a contemporary title, we readers know the magazine could be called Any Time Now or What Day Is It Again?)
Lest you think this topic is overly morbid, there is an upside. You can take it upon yourself to write your own obituary! More and more people are doing this as part of their end-of-life planning.
There are many positives to writing your own obit. First and foremost, you can save your survivors the time and trouble at a time they are overcome by grief. Secondly, who is the best spokesperson for your life? You, of course! Don’t leave it to a spouse, sibling, child or (gasp) the funeral home to put you in the best possible light when you can do it yourself. Plus, you can embellish! What is frowned upon in resumes can finally have its day in obituaries. Besides, who would dare print a correction after you’re gone?
The task is not as tough as you might think. There are obit writing classes offered online and at some colleges for the aspiring end-of-life writer. Personally, I am surprised my friends at the Institute for Learning in Retirement at FCC have not thought of this, but then again, their writing courses don’t do as well as Beer Making and Scrapbooking. Even The News-Post has online prompts to help you write your obit.
There are plenty of so-called experts who will tell you the things you should put in and leave out of your obit.
Things to put in include your name, dates of birth and death (you’ll have to trust someone else on this one), list of loved ones, education and career highlights, military service (if honorably discharged), memberships in organizations including houses of worship and Loyal Orders of Elks, Lions, Water Buffalo or any other civic-minded animal, and hobbies and special interests. Cause of death is optional but should be mandatory because nosy readers want to know.
I do take exception to the things experts say to leave out of your obit: personal grievances, political and religious points of view, family secrets and lists of people you appreciate because — get this — you might leave someone out.
On personal grievances, I say let ’em have it! Think George Costanza’s father in Seinfeld celebrating Festivus with the airing of the grievances. You’ll feel better about yourself if you get these things off your chest. Any good shrink will tell you that. Anyway, the objects of your ire can simply say that dementia got the best of you at the end or that you were a mean old cuss and everyone knew it. What do you care?
Experts and I do agree on one thing: you should let your personality shine through. I’ll venture that most of us in this demographic do more than just glance at obits. We read them thoroughly to make sure no one had a better life than ours. Just imagine how refreshing it would be to read an obit that is honest, maybe slightly self-deprecating and obviously sweated over.
In this vein, I would like to offer my own obituary for your consideration. Hopefully, my demise won’t come any time soon, but if it does, at least I’ll have this rough draft on paper that my personal editor (my wife) can punch up later as she waits for the insurance money to come in.
Be advised that obits are not free. They can be quite pricey and often charged by the line. My obit below could easily be over $1,000, but rightfully so.
Gary Alva Bennett
January 21, 1957 – _________
Gary Alva Bennett came into this world on the coldest day of the year — January 21, 1957. This may have been a precursor to his life and times. The first son of Rose and Howard Bennett, Gary (or “little Alvie” as his father delighted in calling him) somehow sprang to life in Keyser, West Virginia’s Potomac Valley Hospital, whose record of successful births, shall we say, is spotty.
Gary didn’t grow up in a town, city, farm or suburb. He grew up along the road; more specifically, Route 220 in Allegany County, Maryland.
Life was not easy. His first memories included playing with dirt in the backyard and hitting rocks with a baseball bat. He didn’t have many friends growing up but his best may have been his trusty “pitch back” machine, which made friends unnecessary.
Life was not all bad, though. Gary grew up beside a drive-in theater, rod and gun club, and horse show arena. This soon made him the toast of the road, and friends (at least two) came pouring in. Never able to read the room, Gary often stopped playing with friends to take in the original “Password” with Allen Ludden at 2:30 p.m. on summer weekdays. It was a surprisingly guilty pleasure for a pre-teen boy.
Gary was tall, smart-alecky and, some might say, handsome. Others might say “interesting looking.” He was always tallest in his class through elementary school except for one girl who could look him straight in his eye and whup him good if needed. For obvious reasons she became his first schoolboy crush. In those days there was no middle school or junior high. Gary and his cohort went directly to seventh grade in a high school with monstrously big and sophisticated near-adults from Westernport, Maryland (population 3,000). Gary thrived in high school and finished in the top 10 of his class of 37.
From there, Gary accepted admission to his dream school of Frostburg State College. He took three degrees at Frostburg but had to give two back. The highlight of college was meeting Ellen, his pretty but long-suffering wife. She married far below her station, as Gary was frequently reminded. She was from the faraway and exotic city of Cumberland.
Gary was reportedly a good dad of two and husband of one, keeping his numbers purposely small. He really found his niche as an outstanding grandad, or papa, as the grandkids called him. He even had a “World’s Best Grandad” T-shirt to prove it. As papa, he was playful and generous with his time and didn’t mind boorish behavior. He was pummeled by rubber sword-wielding waifs more times than he could count. His cavorting through the small play structures at MeLand and Urban Air is legendary and still talked about in some circles.
Gary’s 40 years in business is mostly a blur and not worth talking about. His noteworthy accomplishments will be published later if any are discovered. By all accounts he was a competent marketing/communications-type person who delighted in writing catchy phrases and staying out of trouble. The highlight of his career was the award he received from Metro for completing one million commuting miles on the subway. At least he thought it was an award.
Gary delighted in making a fool of himself at every opportunity because it was so easy. One of his life’s highlights was showing up in costume at the Tampa airport to loudly and publicly meet his wife on vacation. His goal was always to make her pee with laughter and embarrassment. She won’t admit it, but he believed he succeeded several times. He loved his family and friends more than anything else in the world, except maybe Jim Croce, the Orioles and Siesta Key.
There will be no wake, viewing or funeral. Interment will be at Camden Yards.
Gary Bennett is a longtime Frederick resident who spends his time hiking, biking, volunteering and providing childcare for grandchildren. He is married and retired from his career as a nonprofit marketing executive.
