Here's what else it notes: Purmort's "long, entertaining stories." A high school band. A college degree. A job with Colle + McVoy, a Minneapolis agency. A son, Ralph, who will "will grow up to avenge his father's untimely death."
"I've never laughed and cried more in one sitting," Nora wrote on her blog, My Husband's Tumor, "but I’m so glad we got to do this."
I'm not sure if an obituary can be charming (I guess that's the right word for this?); but then again, it's your obituary, it can be whatever you want it to be, I suppose. And Purmort's is funny and warm, creative and bright. It even mentions Gwen Stefani. Apparently it made his wife laugh, at least, and how many obituaries can do that?
“There is so much beauty if you can face the hard part of life, " Nora told the Star Tribune. "And I learned that from Aaron."
You can now read about the Spider-Man obituary on Slate and Jezebel and Mashable and … well, it's gone viral, so a bunch of places, really, including the Daily Mail, which spoke with Nora.
According to the Daily Mail:
Nora said: 'Living with cancer is no battle -- you show up and hope you don't die is the battle.'What sets Aaron apart is not just the obituary but literally the entire way he lived his life. He had this unbridled joy about him.'We spent so much time in hospital, where mostly other people are in terrible moods and feel sorry for themselves, and Aaron didn't feel spend one second of his entire 35 years on earth feeling sorry for himself.'When we were writing this we were laughing so hard, we had to take some parts out. ... We had so much fun these past three years.'A lot of the stuff we went through was pretty terrible but it didn't feel as bad as it looked'.
Nora and Aaron Purmort have publicly discussed their story before. They were featured on the local news before their wedding, then again in the Star Tribune after a police officer's act of kindness.
And Nora Purmort has for some time been documenting her husband's illness on her blog, including this post, which details his first seizure.
"My mother is excellent in times of tragedy," she wrote. "She doesn’t believe in hysteria, and as my body warms up and I start to breathe a little heavier she stops me short of choking on my own sobs as we pull up in front of the dark doors of the Emergency Room.
" 'Go in there and be a woman,' she says. And even though I’m not sure quite how to do that, I open the car door and go."