I didn't even know he was sick

I've always said that I want my tombstone to actually say something, beyond the basic name, date of birth and date of death. "We didn't even know he was sick" is one idea. Or perhaps "If you can read this, you're standing too close. In fact, you're standing on top of me." I want people to smile when they pass the granite slab under which my remains will rest for perpetuity -- or at least I want them to not get too depressed. Hopefully, the dates on my headstone will show that I lived a long life and my survivors will rest assured knowing that I have moved on to a better place. The gravestone pictured here has intrigued me since I snapped the picture at Arlington National Cemetery a couple of years ago. Arlington is famous for its tomb of the unknowns, which is under constant guard as a reminder that many people have fought and died for our country without their remains being identified. So is this the tomb of the unknown journalist? I don't know. A quick Google search the other day didn't yield any answers, so if anyone knows, let me know. As a person who leads a double career as a high school journalism teacher and a weekly newspaper reporter and columnist, the journalist headstone picture reminds me of movies where the Grim Reaper is standing behind some dude who has no idea his time is up. It's foreshadowing; an image portending doom. As I wrote in this week's column in The Pinnacle, the noble profession of journalism isn't going away. Rather, our society's means of communication and preferences for acquiring news are changing. Any hack, present company included, can set up a blog and post his or her comments for the world to read or ignore. They don't need a journalism degree or an Associated Press Style Guide. They just need a computer, the Internet, and some fingers. And that's OK. Journalism is not a dying art, but rather an evolving one. Maybe my headstone will simply say "Breen," because my choice of dual careers will not leave my family with enough money to pay for any more engraving. I hope that when my time to pass comes many, many years from now that my wishes are respected. Put "loving father, devoted husband" somewhere on the stone if you must, as those would be reflective of a life lived well. But why not throwing in a zinger as well? Something like "Here lies Adam and all of his jokes that died as soon as he told them."