I have a surprising, yet foolproof method for mood control. Any time you feel a little out of sorts, disappointed or just plain sad, look at the obituaries. No matter how lousy your day may be it is still heaps better than being dead. I woke up too early one day and started angrily musing about someone who had recently disappointed me. No need for details, just suffice to say it was a minor friendship infraction. But most importantly, while I was amidst this moment of irritation I was simultaneously reading the newspaper and happened upon a photo of this striking woman. As startling, was the story accompanying her image.
“Amy Lau, a New York interior designer and a founder of the annual Miami Design Fair died on Jan 17 in Scottsdale, Arizona. She was 56.”
Only 56. And she has no more days left. None. So, even if one of mine is not stellar, then, fate willing, I still have today and tomorrow and perhaps many more of them left to do with what I want. That, in itself, should bring an appreciative smile to our collective faces, eh?
“It certainly can,” says CHATGPT. “Reading obituaries can be a powerful reminder of life’s unpredictability and brevity, prompting a deeper appreciation for the time we still have.”
You can imagine how silly yet somehow hopeful I felt about my mild, morning malaise after reading about Amy and her many achievements.
“Seeing the accomplishments, relationships, and impact of those who have passed,” according to CHATGPT, “can inspire us to make the most of our own lives—whether by strengthening connections, pursuing passions, or simply savoring everyday moments. It can also serve as motivation to focus on what truly matters and not take time for granted,” AI emphasized.
Obituaries usually express the best about the departed. I often wish we could hear such flattering things said while we were still alive rather than waiting for the time when we would be unable to enjoy them. And to that end I urge my family and friends to share any lovely thoughts they may have about me right now. I mean, no one would appreciate them more than me, right?
How delighted Amy would have been to hear what a fellow designer said about her to the New York Times following her death.
“Amy was the first of a new generation of designers entering the industry at the end of the 20th century,” the New York interior designer Vicente Wolf said in an interview. “She was unrestrained in the sense that she wasn’t going to do things the way everyone else was doing things — in her mixture of furniture and her use of color.”
He added, “She was a firecracker, with the hair color to go with it.” NYT
I love that line. Who wouldn’t want to be known as a “firecracker?” Or brilliant, or beautiful or talented or loving? Or any number of accolades that would warm the heart of the object of our affection rather than just to those who are remembering her in her absence. Remembering the dead is the only gift we can give them, of course, but flattery is in short supply these days and could go a long way in brightening up someone’s day while they could still hear it. Perhaps she was reminded of some of those things while she was sick? I don’t know, but I hope so.
Amy died of cancer. I know it’s none of my business how someone dies but I do appreciate those obituaries that reveal the cause of death. It paints a fuller picture of the person I will never get to meet. It can explain if they had suffered. How brave they had to be. If it was a peaceful or an anguished ending. Or, if the same fate might befall us. That’s an entirely selfish reaction, I know, but there’s a strange kind of comfort to be had from learning that someone perished in a skydiving accident, for instance, knowing full well that fear of heights would prevent the same fate from ever happening to us.
There is a Latin phrase, “Mortui vivos docent,” which translates to “the dead teach the living,” which is quite appropriate here, I think. Rest In Peace, Amy Lau. Bravo for your accomplishments and thank you for reminding us, through your death, that we got to wake up this morning and make the best of our day.
Burning Daylight 