Live Like You're Dying

When I heard about the passing of former Playboy centerfold Anna Nicole Smith on February 8, I was tempted to brush it off as yet another story of a celebrity who died too soon. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered about how I'm going to be remembered when I die.
Through the years, I found it bizarre that Smith was always linked with tragedy -- whether it was battling her former stepson over the estate of her second husband, oil baron J. Howard Marshall II; the sudden death of her 20-year-old son, Daniel, from her first marriage; or the paternity issues surrounding her 5-month-old-daughter, Dannielynn. Her life seemed like a tawdry soap opera that veered between unintentionally funny and hopelessly sad.
Peaks and valleys define one's life experience, and I'd like to think I've triumphed over adversity because of the strong will instilled in me by my parents. Since I come from a family that believes in brutal honesty -- a character trait that's gotten me in trouble more than I care to admit -- I turned to them to find out what information they would include in my obituary.
My mother revealed that she'd remember me as "a youngster who was tomboyish and would fight a boy as quickly as [she] would a girl" as well as a child who "sat on the side of the bed and read The New York Times with [her] dad." Speaking of my father, he said my biggest attributes were my oddball sense of humor and my efforts "to carry on the family tradition of achievement."
On that note, I want to be remembered as someone who made positive contributions to society. I want to be seen as a woman who survived on intellect and instinct despite possessing more flaws than an antagonist in a clichéd romance novel. But, most of all, I want to be appreciated as a good person.