Years ago, on a sunny drive home from errands, my husband asked me to describe myself in one word. Literally, “If you had to describe yourself in one word, what would it be?” The question shook me. Not in a sense that he offended me or that the question was too much to handle. It shook me because it's one of those questions you think you should have an answer to right away, but I did not. I was taken back when I could not think of one word to describe myself.
The only word that came to me was loving. And I could not push that word out of my lips because I knew that it wasn't true. I was not a loving person, so that word would have been a lie. Don't get me wrong, I love. I love my husband and daughter, my family and friends. I am overprotective of those close to my heart, but to describe myself as loving was a stretch. A big one, like homemade slime.
When I picture a loving person, I picture Jesus or a Mother Teresa type. And I am too hard shelled to even consider saying I was the “L” in loving compared to those two.
So, since I couldn't say what I wished to be described as, I said the word I thought people would describe me as being: STRONG. There’s nothing wrong with the word strong and I know I am, but that is not what I want people to remember me by at my funeral.
My husband’s question hit me right in the core. I knew he wanted to ask me a thought provoking question, but I don't think he knew how hard it would hit and sit in my soul.
Even years after, I still want people to describe me as loving. Someone who truly loves and cares deeply for those that matter most to her AND those she doesn’t even know. Not strong. Not, "She could get through anything" strong.
I want, "She was such a kind spirit. Her love, care, and devotion filled a room. She smiled and hugged, and she made you feel like you were the most imp