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Worried About Outliving Friends, My Junior High School Boyfriend and Not-so-Subtle Self-Promotion

At my 50th Birthday Party

Recently my first boyfriend, George, wrote a sparkling Amazon review* for my new memoir, Confessions of a Worrywart: Husbands, Lovers, Mothers, and Others. In addition, ever since he read the book, he has been emailing me recollections of my ninth-grade antics, like the time I blew up a condom and bounced it around class. (Where did I even get a condom at that age in those days?)

Connecting with old friends has been one of the major rewards of writing my book.

All this fed into my recurring imaginings of how to celebrate my death, and whether to do so after or before it occurs, though I realize it’s unrealistic to believe I’ll have a choice.

It seems like such a waste to have tributes about a dead person that they never get to experience. My fantasy has me sitting up in my bed against fluffy, Clorox-white pillows, feeling comfortable—the way I feel now—with family and friends all around me, sipping prosecco from champagne flutes and reading their tributes.

Before you say these are the musings of a narcissist, let me point out that these are the musings of a narcissist.

But in addition to my own pleasure of hearing the pre-eulogies, I imagine my daughters appreciating the anecdotes my friends will tell. If I outlive my friends, my descendants will have only their own memories to soothe them, not that I would choose otherwise; as I already suggested, these are just the musings of someone who spends overtime thinking about herself.

At least my daughters will have the scrapbook I made after my fiftieth birthday party when I invited friends to share memories, which they read at the party. I urge others to do this—it’s so fun and remains amusing to look back on and read the likes of a friend’s account: Sharing food with Susan is always a unique, challenging, competitive adventure.

My oldest daughter gets annoyed with me when I say I enjoy going to funerals. Of course, what I mean is that, although I can’t bear it when someone dies, I relish hearing stories about a person’s life.

I read memoirs and personal essays of unfamous people so I can learn how others deal with their imperfections, what they regret, how they reflect on relationships they’ve had, what they would have done differently, what they did right.

For those reasons and more, I write about my unfamous self. And in the writing, I learn all those things about me and learn from the way others relate to what I have written.

I can’t wait to hear from my dear friend Jane when she comments about funeral tributes. I know she will.

And I would love to hear from you too!

*5.0 out of 5 stars Guys will love it too, February 28, 2013

George Bell – See all my reviews

Amazon Verified Purchase(What’s this?)

This review is from: Confessions of a Worrywart: Husbands, Mothers, Lovers and Others (Paperback)

I couldn’t wait to read this book. Susan [Fishman] Orlins was my first girlfriend. I knew that if this book was anything like her, it would be funny, honest, offbeat, clever, and unpredictable. It was all this and more not to mention artfully written. Towards the end she sees herself channeling Auntie Mame , to me, it reads more like Nora Ephron channeling Sarah Silverman…A witty writer telling about a wickedly funny and irrepressible character. Lest the phobic and neurotics out there think they are buying this book for the comfort of reading about one of themselves…this book is an inspiration to ignore your hangups and grab life by the horns [even if you have to wipe them down with clorox wipes first] and going for it. In the end she finds herself in search of Susan Fishman. From what I can see she’s still there and always was. She’s the girl from junior high school [albeit minus one hip]…the same unforgettable unique character that men or women will love reading about. Go Suzie!

LOTS ABOUT MARRIAGE, RELATIONSHIPS AND MORE IN MY NEW MEMOIR . . .

Confessions of a Worrywart: Husbands, Lovers, Mothers, and Others Check it out on Amazon.com, Kindle, and Smashwords

The perfect book for worrywarts or anyone who enjoys a “neurotic, hilarious, poignant,” deeply personal story.

4 Responses to "Worried About Outliving Friends, My Junior High School Boyfriend and Not-so-Subtle Self-Promotion"

JD says:

April 1, 2013 at 8:24 am

“Before you say these are the musings of a narcissist, let me point out that these are the musings of a narcissist.” Love this line (and your honesty). Thanks for a great read this morning.

Reply
1. susan fishman orlins says:
  
  April 1, 2013 at 3:25 pm
  
  Thanks Jill! I do like to acknowledge that because it is often what others think about someone who writes about her/himself.
  
  Reply
Jane Bressler says:

March 18, 2013 at 1:33 am

Of course I am going to comment, particularly since this is a subject to which I have given a great deal of thought. I assume that most of my friends will be at my funeral since I have been living with metastatic breast cancer for four years now. Even though I hope for many more good years (and I have certainly lived the last four to the very fullest, traveling as much as possible—and that is a lot—and spent as much time as I could enjoying my family and friends and sharing their love). But given the fact that I am now 68 and have a terminal illness, it is likely that most of my “healthy” friends will outlive me and many of them will attend my funeral, including you, Susan.

Many years ago, I used to wonder which of my female friends would be the first widow. I was sure it would not be me since, of my contemporaries, my husband was the youngest, at 3-1/2 years younger than I. Well, I was certainly wrong on that one. My beloved Martin died in 2001, after a long and painful bout with bladder cancer, at the age of 53. Now that funeral was totally jam-packed, with people actually spilling out into the street. He was sick for so long that he specifically asked the people he wanted to speak at his funeral in advance. I wrote my eulogy while he was still alive, lying in bed next to me and I suggested to his best friend that he do the same, so he would not be pressed to do it in one day.

I was able to discuss all the details of the funeral with Martin, including where he wanted to be buried, what he wanted to wear, where he wanted the funeral service. Now I feel angry, maybe disappointed is a better word, that I was there to help him die and he will not be there to help me die. I tell him that regularly. Who knows == maybe he can hear me. At least it makes me feel better.

Unlike Susan, I don’t really wish to be present at (other than in the coffin) my own funeral. But I have done the next best thing – I have written eight pages – single spaced – of a tome which I constantly return to and revise, called “How I Want to Die and Be Buried.” It upsets my children most of the time when I speak about my wishes, so I have written about them. They are easy to find on my computer under “Death and Dying” and I specify every detail I can think about. I indicate who I want to speak, music I wish to have played as people arrive, where I want the funeral, what I want to wear. Other than mentioning two poems I would like someone to read (which are also attached to my refrigerator), I don’t indicate in any way what I wish anyone to say. Obviously, that should be entirely in their own discretion. In some cases, I leave choices and decisions up to the feelings of my children, as it should be.

I could go on and on, and in my instructions I have. And who knows, Susan, maybe we will be there to hear what is said. Nobody has ever said we won’t be.

Reply
1. susan fishman orlins says:
  
  March 20, 2013 at 12:51 pm
  
  Jane, thanks for this–I knew I could count on you to comment. I’m trying to figure out what might not be in those eight pages that you have left up to your kids! I’m always amazed by how you know what you what and then how you go about accomplishing it–obviously I’m referring to those things that life allows us any control over.
  
  I remember walking into Martin’s funeral to wonderful Rock n Roll music!
  
  Reply

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