>When I Go

>My friend Meg had the smarts to tell people what she had done to ensure that after she had died, (Did she know it was coming soon? Had she sensed something?) we would do what she wanted, nothing less, nothing more. She wrote it all down in an envelope, and she told her sister where to find the envelope. We did everything she asked. And it was beautiful. I recently read this article by Joan again, in which she lays out the Terry Schiavo debacle, and wonders just who has the right to decide what makes a life worth living.

So.

I don’t want there to be any confusion. Here’s what to do when I go. It’s quite simple, really.

1) Give away everything that science/medicine/organ people might want. Eyes, spleen, kidney, liver, collectible first editions, etc.

2) Cremate the rest of me. Then share me. Let everyone take a tablespoon.

3) Scatter me around; I want to be in a bunch of different places. Choose the places yourself. Pick a place because I liked to sit there, or you think I would have liked to sit there. Or pick a place that you would like to visit, so that when you want to think of me, you can visit that place. Or when you visit that place, you think of me.

4) Gather everybody in whatever geographical locales are easiest. Have a party. Everyone tell stories. Tell bad jokes. Tell good ones. Make jokes about me being a control freak. About my grumpiness. About my affinity for mail waiting to be sent. Play music.

5) Eat. Eat lavishly. Eat yourself sick and tired. Be ridiculous in your menu planning. Have it catered by the best. Or have everyone cook. Have french fries. Have tiny boursin and avocado sandwiches. Have manchego and quince paste. Have fried baby artichokes with lemon sauce. Have something with flour tortillas. Have gay-sounding ice cream flavors.

That’s it.



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