No one was more surprised than Christina Novak when the short online obituary she placed in the Kennebec Journal about her mom’s death went viral.
“Let’s be clear. It’s a PSA and it’s no joke. It was written with sarcasm and relief, but it’s real,” Novak, 47, tells PEOPLE exclusively. “It was done in four sentences because I refused to spend another dollar on that woman.”
For those who have not read Florence “Flo” Harrelson’s colorful send-off, which was published on Aug. 30, the death notice reads: "Florence 'Flo' Harrelson, 65, formerly of Chelsea, died on Feb. 22, 2024, without family by her side due to burnt bridges and a wake of destruction left in her path."
"Florence did not want an obituary or anyone including family to know she died," the obituary continues. "That’s because even in death, she wanted those she terrorized to still be living in fear looking over their shoulders. So, this isn’t so much an obituary but more of a public service announcement."
At first read, some people online thought it was a joke, a sly good-bye to someone who could take a jest — and that theory could even be supported by the personality-filled obituaries for Harrelson’s mother and her brother, Bill, who gained a level of fame on the TV series Maine Cabin Masters before his death last year.
Harrelson’s mother, who had five sons and twin daughters, died in 2015 when she was 80. She was remembered as “a good cook" who "was known for her ability to make delicious blueberry muffins without measuring any ingredients."
Meanwhile, the 2023 obituary for Harrelson's older brother William, 73, began with the line: “The world may not be as funny of a place for a little bit as we had to say goodbye to William Forrest Davenport on April 5th.”
Novak says the obituary for her uncle, who lived "about five minutes from me" was "very nice." She also alleges that after her uncle's death, her mom raided his home on at least two occasions.
According to Novak, her mother, a former Maine State Prison corrections officer, died months before anyone in the family noticed.
Novak, who hadn't spoken to her mom in a decade, says she only discovered what had happened after a discussion with a friend about how things were “too quiet lately.” She Googled her mother’s name and a death notice from a crematorium popped up.
“I messaged my aunt, her identical twin sister, and I’m like, 'Did Mom die?' And she’s like, 'I don’t know,” ’ Novak says. “After some digging, I discovered it was her.”
Growing up, Novak says her mom “took sport in ruining every birthday and Christmas” and played cruel pranks on her when she was just little — like allegedly taking her to the top of a bridge and having her and her partner grab Novak's legs and arms and act like they were going to throw her into the water below.
"I still can't drive over a bridge without getting an anxiety attack," says Novak.
So she had no problem jotting down her true feelings, only restricted by the reported $1.25 per word price tag — in fact, she says, "it felt cathartic to write it out. It was like, hold my beer."
Before she turned in her four sentences, Novak says she ran it past her aunt to get her approval. She did not hear back for more than 24 hours. And when she did, she says her aunt only took note of a typo.
“She pointed out, ‘It’s destruction, not distraction,’ “ Novak says.