You have to watch

"You have to watch this," I told my 10-year old daughter. "Just a few minutes."

I have been glued to the TV for hours now -- news junkie that I am -- watching as America celebrates the news of the day. Military forces have killed Osama bin Laden in Pakistan.

She, however, has been watching the Disney Channel in the other room. And is itching to go back to it.


"Why?" she wants to know.

"Because it's history," I replied. "Someday you'll want to tell your children that you saw this."

So she looked. She watched. But she doesn't know.

She was just an infant the day those planes crossed the sky and changed the world forever in the year of her birth.  She has no images in her head of the towers aflame, of the black smoke, of the dust covered people, of the horror-stricken faces. She doesn't remember that punched-in-the-gut feeling we all had.

She has no idea who or what an Osama bin Laden is.

Was.

But it's my job to teach her.  So I made her come into the living room to watch the crowds as they gathered in celebration outside of the White House and at Ground Zero tonight, in the moments after the President announced that bin Laden had been killed. Just as my sister made me come out of my room to watch the moon landing.

"Who killed him?" she wanted to know.

"Our military," I said.

She watched some more, but was really waiting for me to hand over the laptop and let her go.

"Do you know who he was?" I asked her.

"Yeah," she replied. "He was that dude that took some planes or something."

And I realized that she doesn't know.

I gently tried to explain.  But how do you explain it to a young, innocent child who has no concept of such evil? How do you tell her that a human man could fathom such a horrific plan to willingly kill as many people as possible using fuel-loaded jets? Do I want to give her the nightmares we've all had since then? No.

But I want her to understand what this day means to so many.

So I explained that he came up with this idea, to take over some planes and fly them into the buildings.  Then
 I Googled 9/11 attacks. Images. And I showed her.

"Wow," she said, looking at image after image of the flaming buildings and the pluming black smoke. "Where are the planes?"

"They're inside," I said.

But I don't think she got it.

And that's both a good and a bad thing.

Maybe she will remember. Maybe she won't. Maybe she will tell her children. Maybe she won't. But I will. And I did.

Or, I tried.

The story's end

A hush fell over the marsh on Sunday, Jan. 9, 2011, as Donald put away his pirogue and fishing poles and went home to be with his parents, Donald Sr. and Cecilia.

I did not know Mr. Donald, but I hope he finds peace in his eternal rest. He sounds like a great guy.

I know this because those he left behind thought enough of him to put some thought and care into his obituary.

Most people don't.

Most people follow the staid old formula:
Bob Jones, 92, died Saturday.

I know that formula because, like most journalists of my generation, I got my start in the newspaper business writing obituaries. And they ALL followed that same, staid old formula.

But as newspapers began to shrink, so did the obituary. Used to be, anybody could get a nice little write up in the local daily. Nowadays, you have to be almost famous.

But the story of your life can be bought as ad space -- sometimes at a hefty price. And once family members began to realize that they were buying all those inches in the back of the Metro section, they started to do it "their way."

I have noticed the trend.

Harriet Hunter, famous for her chocolate cake...

William Wallace, who never passed up a chance to argue...

And Mr. Donald, who apparently was very loud in the swamp.

I love it.

And it makes me wonder... What would I like MY death notice to say?

Besides the

Lori Lyons, 102,

part I mean...

Shouldn't this be something we ALL contemplate, along with the disposition of our estate and who will get all of my shoes when I'm gone?

It's not being morbid. It's being realistic. We aren't getting out of this alive. And someday, our entire lives -- who we were, what we did, all that we accomplished and left behind -- will have to be summed up in just a few paragraphs...

Written by a stranger?

I think not!

So here is what I'd like my death notice to say:

Lori Lee Ann "Lolo" Lyons Luquet, 102, a writer, left this earthly life and has moved to the beach, where she plans to float on a raft on crystal clear blue waters, entertain her family and friends and every dog she ever loved, and drink pina coladas for eternity.

She was a damn fine sports writer, a wife, mother, stepmother, daughter, sister, aunt, grand-aunt, cousin and friend who loved cheap wine, cold beer, festive cocktails with little umbrellas, a good steak, boiled crabs, Brown's Velvet Pecan Krunch ice cream, chocolate covered cherries, music from the 80s, Old School Jam, playing the piano, throwing great parties, early morning walks, The Grand Hotel in Point Clear, Pensacola Beach and her backyard swimming pool.

And her friends and family.

That'll be $395.25.

Now to choose a picture....





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