London, 1974
My parents were hard-core anglophiles and invited me to join them on a journey to London. My father and I climbed to the highest point in the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral–shortly before the route was closed as a safety hazard.
Before leaving, we visited the crypt, where we saw the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren, the architect responsible for designing and building some of the most famous structures in England. Throughout London there were 51 “Wren churches” as well as the cathedral that surrounded us.
The tomb was surprisingly plain, not what I expected for such a prolific architect. The epitaph explained why: “Lector, si monumentum requiris, circumspice.”
Luckily, I’d studied Latin for four years and knew that it read, “Reader, if you wish to see his monument, look around you.” Indeed, the cathedral and so much of the city were his monuments.
Over the years, my father and I recalled that day, both the harrowing climb to the top of St. Paul’s and the strong statement on the tomb: It’s the accomplishments we achieve in life that people will remember.
And so it was, years later, at my father’s funeral, that his widow asked me what we should have etched on his gravestone. I immediately responded: “If you seek my monument, look around you.”
Now, my father hadn’t been an architect, but, as a psychiatrist, he helped scores of patients lead fulfilling lives. He’d also been responsible for reopening a mental hospital, making counseling services available to countless people in need.
So, if you want to see my father’s monument, look at the legacy of the many people he’d helped.
Which seemed entirely appropriate until a few months later, when his gravestone was unveiled and installed.
“If you seek my monument, look around you,” one of my brothers read out loud.
To which he commented, “So his monument is a cemetery full of dead people? These weren’t his patients, were they?”
Context means everything.