Popcorn with Deborah

Thinking about life and popping some popcorn one evening, I looked down at my roommate’s youngest daughter, Deborah. She was one or two and not so interested in my concerns but much more in the smell coming from our microwave. I filled up a big bowl and we plopped down on the kitchen floor, leaning our backs against the fridge. While we munched away I confessed to her my deepest concern – that I will die and no one will remember my life. I pondered out loud about my obsessions with blogging and photography and various ways of “evidence building”, not trusting that anyone else was noticing all the little things that I love about people, about God and mostly about myself.
Sure, there would be a funeral. People would cry and say nice things about me. But does anyone know that when no one is around, I sing all the time? Do they know my favorite songs to sing are “What’ll I do?” and “Desperado?” Do they know why?
I spend hours in photo shoots capturing the best features of my friends’ faces and bodies, but does anyone own a single beautiful picture of me? At least one taken in the last 4 years? How will I even make a slideshow for my own funeral if no one ever takes any pictures of me? I started out such a cute and interesting person – everything well documented. When did I start feeling so forgettable that I would have to tell people what to remember about me? And when did I become so selfish to think that my life matters so much that people throughout time should remember me at all.
I’m told it’s a normal feeling. But that’s the last thing I want to think of myself as being.