Coming to Grips with Obituaries

Here it is.  Jake, Mom, Libby, you will not have to worry about writing my obituary anymore.  Phew, check that off your list.

Polly Oveson Scott keeled over last Monday from/by/with (choose the appropriate preposition) _____________ (see some options below – but please write the gory version of how I really died):
1. being brutally flung under a bus which smashed her bones to bits.
2. an unflattering bout of nausea that did not let up until she was rendered unconscious, and later dead, of course.
3. skin cancer.

She is survived by a lot of people.  You, for instance.  You survived. 

Throughout her life, she did the same old stuff most people do.  Her talents: a tolerance for copious amounts of chocolate and staring into space.  She was known to say, “I’m Polly.  I’m Mormon.”

We will miss her, mostly.

She donated her body to the University of Utah cadaver lab, so besides the funeral, which will be short and sweet, we’ll hold the graveside service when they’re done with her.