my own obit

Katherine Marie Hubbard Amundsen, Missoula, went kicking and screaming to be with our lord and raise some hell in heaven, specified that she be buried with a crowbar and a slim-jim just in case the pearly gates were locked once she got there. By her request a serious party to celebrate her life rather than mourn her death will start after the service and shall continue until the keg runs dry, or there is not one left sober to drive home. She asked to be remembered that the beauty of my body is not measured by the size of the clothes it can fit into, but by the stories that it tells. I have a belly and hips that say, "We grew a child in here," and breasts that say, "We nourished life." My hands, with bitten nails and a writer's callus, say, "We create amazing things." as she passed she remarked life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a lovely and well-preserved body, but rather a skid to broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming "WOW! What a ride!".