Memory after Death

Neil Gaiman recently answered a question on how he’d like to be remembered.

Funny, because I’ve considered this same question…and come to a similar conclusion.  I don’t care if anyone remembers me or not.  Once I’m gone from this world, I’ll be moving on to bigger and better things…and what anyone does with my ‘stuff’ or my ‘name’ doesn’t bother me at all.  That includes my body as well.  The last thing I’d want is some big memorial thing, with a costly coffin and grave.  That’s not me, that just…hair clippings and dust.  Just dig a hole somewhere and dump my body in.  And don’t bother going back to ‘visit’ me…I’m not there!  Actually, as long as I die after my mother (who is freaked out by this idea!) I’d love to donate my body to The Body Farm.  Might as well do some good with it, and I’ve long been fascinated by the work they do there.

But I actually didn’t intend to get into that.  What I’d like to happen after I die, is not to be remembered for hundreds of years, but to be completely forgotten.  And then, for some item I’ve created to be found, and some girl like myself to spend a few minutes enjoying that thing, and to wonder who I was, and why I made it.

Like with this piece of embroidery:

The only thing we know about this is that it was made by a child of 8 -11 years old.  (Wow!) We don’t know her name.  But how awesome it is to imagine her making it.  Why?  Was it intended to be a gift? For who?  And on what occasion?

Or this:

Or this:

I love the mystery more than the memory.

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