If I knew I was dying, I would make sure that my affairs were in order. I would do that mainly for K****, who was so outraged when I left because she would have to “travel” to “go through my things.” I would also do it for Loser, who is beside himself with fear that HIS MONEY will be “flying around out there in cyber-space” if something happens to me. (When he said that, he was probably thinking about how many trips he could take his WTC on or how much jewelry he could buy for her with that money.)
I might sell some things. I might donate some things. I would toy with the idea of spending every penny I have.
I wouldn’t plan a funeral. I don’t want one. I wouldn’t plan a wake or a party. I don’t want either one of those.
I would never ask anybody to try to come up with elaborate, falsified descriptions of “what a wonderful person” I was and try to sell it to a group of uninterested, non-caring people.
I wouldn’t seek out people who I believed that I had wronged. If I have wronged anybody, it was unintentional. A few of my children may think I have wronged them by “falling into a ditch.” That is not an apology inciting action.
I would absolutely be tempted to exact revenge on those who have wronged me in the past. Whether it would actually come to fruition, I don’t know. I do know that I would never forgive them.
I would want to reach out to Loser, right after Hell freezes over and Lucifer once again, becomes an angel.
I would never allow people back into my life who had abused and betrayed me.
I would not reach out to estranged members of my family. Family members who care, don’t taunt you when they are suddenly part of the family that is no longer yours. Family members who only contact you when they are desperate for money do not care about you. They only care about themselves but they would come crawling out from under the woodwork and suddenly develop “compassion and caring” if they thought there was something in it for them.
I would absolutely become a wannabe philanthropist but I would do it anonymously. I care nothing about having a plaque bearing my name.
I would not opt for invasive, cell-killing treatment. I wouldn’t waste my money on drugs that would provide only temporary relief.
I wouldn’t give up my vices even though I have very few. I might be tempted to smoke a pot joint. That had always been on my “bucket list.” If it was still illegal, I probably wouldn’t.
I’ve never been interested enough in recreational drugs to even give them a second thought, much less a try.
The endless conversations in my head have never ceased and I doubt they ever will, so the answer to that question is a definite yes.
I would never beg anybody to “remember me.” Unimportant people are easily forgotten. I would never ask anybody to keep a promise. Promises are made to be broken.
I’m not sure I could define the term “live like you were dying” so the answer would be arbitrary until the definition was clear.
I would absolutely resent dying because I do feel like I have never really lived.
If there was any conceivable way to do, go and see things that have always been a dream, I would try, even if I had to hire somebody to go with me.
I probably wouldn’t test my car although I know for a fact that it will flat “spit and git it.”
I would not feel compelled whatsoever to go to church. I don’t know if I would confess all of my sins. I’m not sure I could even remember all of them.
I would never curse God although sometimes, I think He has cursed me.
I believe there is not a snowballs’ chance in Hell that I will ever see the pearly gates of Heaven. I believe Hell looms large and the only comfort I have is hoping that I will see certain people there.
Who knows about the stages of death? I went (and am still going through) the stages of grief. The order is all fucked up, so I imagine the stages of death would be too.
It would be lovely to know that when I go to the great beyond, I would be taking an eternal love that not only did I know but that I FELT. I won’t have to worry about that.
I’m not a suicide person. I would never die in a hospital if I had the choice. I would never choose to die in a facility. I wouldn’t want to die in my home or anybody elses’.
I used to think that when I died, I wanted to die in the arms of somebody who really loved me. That’s not going to happen, so there will be no holding my hand at the end.
I would want to and I plan to die alone. Death is sorrowful…why share it? Life and happiness should be shared.
I would opt for cremation. Set me on fire and then put me out. I would like for my ashes to be spread on top of my grandma and grandpas’ graves but I can’t fathom anybody being willing to make the trip to do that so I would just say, throw me out with the garbage.
Nobody will have any of my ashes. Nobody will be carrying me around in their cars’ trunk.
I have no desire to be “planted” anywhere. I want no marker. There is zero possibility that Losers’ name would be ANYWHERE near mine and I would curse anybody who dared to do it.
Having no grave or marker, it would be impossible for anybody to come visit and bring the obligatory flowers and no….it wouldn’t matter if they did…I’d be dead. I would have preferred a visit and flowers when I was alive.
The first question asked will be the last answered.
No. I wouldn’t tell anybody. I would sever all ties with everybody. I cannot and would not tolerate perfunctory shows of imitation affection and worthless epitaphs. I have no need for gratuitous words to be etched into a piece of marble and placed in what is supposed to be a “final resting place.”
The only thing that needs to even be said is…once I was here.