Here, rest my bones. I wish they were yours.

When a friend of mine was diagnosed with terminal cancer a few years ago, he was given a maximum of six months to live. Unfortunately, he only made it to the next four. But what he did at the time he left was both impressive and highly organized. He arranged all his estates and drafted his obituary for the daily newspaper. The only true and most meaningful one I've ever seen. Recently, at a seminar for my "Longevity Training," all participants were asked to write their obituaries.

Wow! That wasn't easy. Putting your own life on paper in 20 minutes. The question quickly arises: Who have I actually "been"? Who would I have liked to have been? I've drawn my conclusions from the exercise and am now working on a kind of biography. This gives me more time to calmly reflect on everything and write it down. It's awful when you're sitting in a chapel, and the pastor reads something the bereaved emailed him. Speaking of pastors, I don't need someone like that to show up at my funeral. But that also needs to be arranged.

Photo: This is an epitaph from a sailor's grave in Brake (Lower Saxony) Here, rest my bones. I wish they were yours.