Writers of Passage
WRITERS OF PASSAGE
This year’s O.Henry writing contest had a twist. Or was it twisted? We asked you to write your own obituary — because it’s never too late. Until, of course, you are. A team of editors pored (and even argued) over the words of our nearly departed entrants for hours — it was a stiff competition. In the end, several wowed us with the use of humor, quirkiness and literary tools, but there can only be one winner. Between two, it was just about a dead heat, so we also selected a runner up. The rest? Well, they were still cherished by all who read them. And now it’s your turn: Read ’em and weep.
With Heavy Hearts, We Announce Our Winner
Jane Kester Took the Last Train
With almost no regrets, Jane Kester caught the last train. The one whose daily whistling formed the backdrop of her growing-up days in her Guilford County home with the midtown depot. The same one that delivered assurance that life chugs along, mostly at an even pace. She spent most of her life within earshot of the train, each boxcar filled with the cargo of a peak or valley. It seems her time passed by as quickly as the blurred scenery on that moving train; yet the pauses captured in still-shots were the ones that, strung together, formed a panorama of her Earth time.
A series of clips: of a first date in a red-and-white convertible and a lavender dress; of birthing babies and watching them mother their own; of watercolors painted for baby nurseries; of a hand raised at the back of the classroom. There were glimpses of a child saved by a miracle; a daughter’s embrace. Another car held ocean storms and mountain sunsets, Scrabble games and scorched boxer shorts left to dry on a space heater. And there were the snapshots of falling in love for life and falling in love with life. Above the engine’s roar could be heard the laughter, and the music, and the dance. All engineered by the Almighty conductor, keeping it all on track.
The last whistle stop is a fitting landing place.
Our Dearly Beloved Runner Up
David Who?
In a sad testament to squandered opportunity and a truly half-assed effort at life, the family of David Theall announce his passing from this world. Born in the Midwest and raised in the South, David’s childhood was notable only for a complete lack of anything interesting happening at all. Of his three remaining siblings, only one even remembers his name.
Teen years were marked by a muted rebellious period that his parents failed to notice except when his hair extended beyond his collar. Their belief that a close-cropped haircut would protect you from the evils of becoming a “hippy” was the solid foundation upon which they raised all of their children. (This was particularly difficult for their daughter.) David, an average student who set no academic records, did make it to college, but achieved nothing notable within the hallowed halls. His college roommate remembers him as a quiet type who “may have been a mute.”
After earning a degree in journalism and entering the job market, his colleagues always said, “David has a face for radio and a voice for print, but don’t let him write anything either.” His career spanned several decades of mediocrity, punctuated by a retirement party with only three guests in attendance.
The list of lifetime achievements deserving mention in a forum that charges by the word is, frankly, not worth the extra nickel. Never even close to the brink of greatness, his life will be forgotten by most who knew him and mourned by none.
Greatly Missed
Mary E. Lewis Took the Trip of a Lifetime
November 8, 1998 – August 29, 2025
We are sad to report that Mary Ellen Lewis is no longer with us. To the surprise of none who knew her, she brained herself tripping over the first flagstone of the path leading to her car, which she walked at least three times daily.
Known as Mellon to her friends (due to an inspired misspelling of her name that happened to resemble the word for “friend” in a fictitious Elvish language), she is survived by her family, two good-as-sisters in other states, and a raunchy Dungeons and Dragons group that still can’t get their initiative order correct.
Her final wishes, verbally conferred, detail that her body is to be thrown into a stratovolcano so that she can finally fulfill her life-long wish of seeing one up close. Barring that, she would like an urn of her ashes to be placed on the doorstep of the local grammar-Nazi, with a hand-written note reading, “your next.”
The measly funds she accrued while living are to go towards buying violins for young students so that they too may know the joys of musicianship (and their parents the bliss of silence following a half-hour of scraping that sounds like a dying feline). Her own violin is to be immolated alongside her.
Any flower arrangements procured for the wake are to be illicitly-and-hand-picked from the neighbors’ gardens. Libations of green tea are an acceptable substitute.
RIP Mellon
Larry Queen, Overachiever
“He tried.”
Rhonda S. Shelton Ends Tour of Duty
Well . . .
She never imagined she would laugh so much or cry so much doing a job she loved!
Three of many:
A white-headed old man who loved his liquor and had ankyloglossia (tongue-tie). Well, she could hardly contain her laughter in an argument with him. It was a daily occurrence, but she enjoyed it. Later in her career, she saw him one Sunday after a long absence. He was dressed in a three-piece, lime-green suit and sneakers, his white hair washed and combed. He told her he had accepted Jesus and was a new man. He was! Thank you, Jesus!
Second, a shooting incident she was involved in, scared her to her core, but she survived. A drug deal gone bad, vehicle chase and gunfight. He was down, she was still standing! Thank you, Jesus!!
Third, a drowning of a female. A local drunk she thought they had dealt with a million times. It’s raining, with thunder and lightning. Ugh, the Fire Department made it to the call before us, and a fireman is carrying a small child. She cried for hours. Death made her understand just how fragile a life is, made her stop and realize how resigned she had become to being a police officer rather than a human being. All three shaped her into an officer, but it took the acceptance of Jesus Christ to make her a better person. The good, the bad and the ugly. 10-42.
Sarah Thompson Gained Her Wings
True to form, with no planning, even less prep, and, of course, leaving breakfast dishes scattered and one wet load of laundry undried, Sarah Thompson, mother and part-time person, has died. A child of nature and bare feet, she fell victim to the grind in her early years, only to later return to her actual purpose in life, which was walking through creeks, searching for salamanders with her children. A psychologist by training, she became disillusioned with the rigid classifications of her profession and instead believed primarily in compassion, embracing Joseph Heller’s idea that no one should be OK given all of (gestures wildly) “this.” Conversations took surprising turns, as she made a career out of studying suicide, but also once made a fairy mailbox out of a matchbox with her son, each with great passion.
She cried often, rarely passed over a discarded item on the curb, listened to the Indigo Girls’ “Romeo and Juliet” over 10,000 times, gardened without gloves and found peace in painting watercolor fruit on tiny paper. She loved her husband. She cherished her children. Her phone was almost never charged. She found life to be savagely heartbreaking and just as beautiful.
We know that Sarah did not fear death. Instead, she had decided to return in her next life as a bird, just as her grandmothers (cardinal and yellow finch) and her mother (bluebird) had done before. She did not yet know which bird she would be and was looking forward to the surprise.
From $21 to Doctor: The Beautiful Hot Mess That Is Lobel Lurie
Born in the Philippines, where babies cry in karaoke pitch and rice is a love language, Lobel “Label-Lulubel-Nabel-Hey-You” Lurie entered life already slightly weird and wildly determined.
When she left the Philippines, she carried exactly $21 in her pocket, one sturdy suitcase and enough stubbornness to terrify immigration officers. She didn’t just cross oceans — she crossed entire expectations.
Breast cancer survivor. Doctor of Nursing. International speaker. Rockstar nurse. Human spinach detector.
She traveled the world saving lives and occasionally saving people from public humiliation — zipping flies, flicking toilet paper off shoes and praying nobody noticed.
Despite scraping the last bit of toothpaste because small things matter, she consistently carried at least 10 open lip glosses in every purse — proving chaos was part of the brand.
She once gave a major lecture in Spain with a full lettuce leaf stuck in her teeth. Nobody dared interrupt. Probably because she also had the energy of a woman who would fix your life and your fly without blinking.
Her motto:
“Slightly weird but wildly together is the best you can hope for. And if your fly is down, fix it before you embarrass your ancestors.”
Survived by:
•Her daughter, who inherited her spirit.
•Friends and communities now compulsively checking their teeth.
•Half-used toothpaste tubes and a lifetime of fully used dreams.
Long live Lobel Lurie — beautiful, messy, unstoppable.
Mallory Miranda Booked It Outta Here
Mallory Miranda died today, aged 112, just like she always told you all she would, damn it. Don’t bother googling her. A prolific writer, she wrote under pseudonyms so none could pursue her after mistaking her characters as representations of themselves. You will, if googling, find salacious videos made by someone whose stage name was the same as hers. For clarity, her epitaph will read “Mallory Miranda, pseudonyms:” followed by a list of her pseudonyms, concluded “Bite me!”
Mallory was born in California in 1989. She lived comfortably until the 2008 Great Recession. During this period, she learned the traitorous quality of money, then opted to spend her life in willful avoidance of it. She insists this was intentional — not because she spent her entire income on books. Ignore that TBR pile. It’s nothing to do with her lack of fortune. Sir! Madam! Please, let’s — is that drone delivering more books? Ugh —
As Mallory promised, her COD: None are shocked she finally fell down one too many rabbit holes. Literally. This was not another research deep dive. It was bunnies she refused to exterminate from her yard. Her yard became a sanctuary for critters after neighbors poisoned their yards to the point of no biological return. She always knew moving to North Carolina would kill her, and surely, it was one of these local bunnies’ holes that tripped her. Her calcium-deprived bones couldn’t take it.
Mallory is preceded in death by her husband and survived by her son and library.
Walt Pilcher Had the Last Laugh
As Walt Pilcher, 83, of Colfax was preparing to shuffle off this mortal coil, he looked up “shuffle off this mortal coil” and changed his mind about dying, preferring unlike the tragic Hamlet to invoke his personal 11th Commandment, “Thou Shalt Not Take Thyself Too Seriously,” and dreading the cloyingly glowing and therefore ironically all-the-more funereal sentiments he imagined might make up his obituary, like these:
Walt lived life to the fullest and was an inspiration to all. He had a zest for life, chose his own path and died doing what he loved, his way. He loved deeply and laughed often with a heart of gold bigger than the sky, an unbreakable spirit and a smile that lit up the room, a beacon of light in dark times and a guiding light to friends and family. He always had a twinkle in his eye and a story to tell. He was the glue that held us together. Taken too soon, gone from our sight but not from our hearts, Walt never met a stranger and left an indelible mark on everyone who knew him, always putting others first with benevolence and generosity that knew no bounds, touching countless lives with kindness and grace, he was loved by all who crossed his path. His was a life well lived, a legacy of selfless service that endures. Walt will be sorely missed, but Heaven has gained another angel. May his memory be a blessing.
Funeral arrangements are incomplete.
