Dr. Joseph Johnson’s obituary is unlike anything you’ve read before. It’s heartfelt, funny, and thought-provoking. But here’s the twist: you have to decide—do you see his story in a positive light or a negative one? Read his obituary below and let me know.
#UniqueObituary #LifeReflections #MakeYouThink #HeartfeltStory #cemetery #HistoryUncovered #cemeteryexploring #cemeterywandering #youdecide My younger brother, Michael, and I were born in 1969 and in 1970, just 13 months apart, to very high expectations. We surpassed them all. Kansas Governor Awards in Easter costumes as twin bunny rabbits and then, Michael as Elvis Presley. I threw a baseball for the longest distance; Michael caught a baby pig after it had out run all the boys. Trophies and Awards in competitive swimming from childhood and then, in Water Polo at the Germantown Academy. Our academic and athletic accomplishments led to Ivy League Schools. After Stanford, Dartmouth, and Northwestern, I was board certified in Internal Medicine. At Harvard, with a degree in Education and Literature and wins in essay writing competitions, Michael made his wide swath. And all that jazz. My mother, as Michael told me, would always see us as her bambinos, her darling sons. She raised each of us high up to the sky, to the Holy Trinity, like Kunta Kinte did with his son in Alex Haley’s novel, Roots. She told God that we were more His sons than hers, and she made Him responsible for our lives. To make her own life easy, she prayed that we would be Franciscan monks. Dad expected that in due time, we would give him, daughters in law and grandchildren. Of course Michael and I went on our own journeys. For myself, in Nashville, TN, I frolicked in the sun, picked up good vibrations, and had friends in low places. I liked my wine and for 3 years from 2004-2007, almost drowned in it. Some of the 200 songs I had written since I was 18, by the name of Ian Stork, tell of the golden years in Topeka, Kansas. Most were about the happiest years of my life with my one and only love, Melissa G. With her, I was robust and electric, free to dream of being a rodeo cowboy. Always laughing, happy. Then followed the dark songs. The heartbreak songs. I did have my moments of grace, of tender mercies. Aunts and Uncles, cousins, some friends, would describe me as gentle, kind, and generous, just like St. Joseph, my name sake. Kelley Setters, my sister/friend since 2011, enjoyed my songs. My patients were grateful and appreciative of my services. I managed to research and submit patent applications on new treatments for Narcolepsy and Chronic Fibromyalgia. By age 33, I had burnt my candle in two ends. In 2007, as my complex medical illness started to manifest, Mom took me in. Still, I was able to work in a military base hospital for six months with a sign in bonus of $40K. In a strange twist, Mom managed to get me to take care of as if she were the sick one. I served her breakfast, walked her and her two dogs, Tillie and Mabel; helped her with shopping, and made sure that she took her medicines. All these until to my surprise, I died. In the last six months of my life, Mom did comfort me by frequent reminders: That I was a chosen one, a man of sorrows, like our Lord Jesus Christ. My suffering, she assured me, was my part in carrying the sorrows of the world, She learned this Joseph Campbell phrase from Michael. For all who knew me, please say that I did not bore you, and that I made you laugh out loud. As for my brilliance, Mom has already posted my Bio in Facebook and will be passing copies of it to everyone at my Visitation. That’s our Mom, right, Michael? Love you Bro!