At Least They're Committed

One can never tell when one is going to biff it and I like using the word ‘one’ instead of ‘you’ because it sounds more British and formal. One could pull a Ledger, a Carradine or a Winehouse/Houston or slip on the ice and fall in front of a beer truck or one just never knows when that person in one’s office who despises her and tries to undermine her credibility at any opportunity is going to lose it altogether and literally stab her in the back instead of doing so figuratively.

I, for one, have completed my will, making sure the important people get the important stuff, and not simply money. I willed Norther Winslow, the mounted elk’s head in the basement, to Miss Lily as well as my Charlie McCarthy, Howdy Doody, Lester, etc., dolls because, of course, she hates them. If people aren’t laughing at shit one did while one was alive after one dies then what purpose did one serve? OK, that might have been too many ‘ones.’

Before my friend Terry died we made a pact. Whoever got outta here first had to contact the other one. He contacted me before he actually left, or maybe he left and came back. I was in the ladies room at the Rocky Mountain News and someone kissed me, awkwardly, on the left corner of my mouth. As if he’d aimed and missed. I whirled around and of course  nobody was there. But I felt it. I prayed and prayed and held my breath for the next couple days before hearing back from him that he was still there, but that he’d collapsed after a treatment during the time in question and that his heart had indeed stopped. A lot of people, he said, reported strange happenings while he was out. “I don’t remember walking around, though,” he said. Then, of course, when he did succumb to lung cancer at age 32, he threw a book at me. Sweet Terry. Goofing off even after the end.

When I die I want my children to know how desperately I loved them. That they were my sun, my moon, all the stars in my sky, every leaf on every tree, every robin that sings at dawn and the very reason I kept on. I would want to thank my husband for being so patient and dedicated to his family and doing so much cooking and cleaning and stuff. (A former boss once asked him if his name was Job.) I’d thank Brian for being my greatest champion and being such an amazing friend. Ellen might have been my bestest friend ever and I loved that I could talk to her about anything! I have such excellent friends in general! I am truly, truly blessed. I never doubted how much my parents loved and respected me and that empowered me to do whatever good I accomplished on this Earth.

I’m not afraid of dying. At least I don’t think so. You can never be sure until you’re confronted with it, can you? Rather like an Ambrose Bierce short story. I feel like I’ve been where I’m going or at least I hope to get back to where I’ve been. It’s bright and peaceful and thoughtful and there are a lot of folks there who know and like me. Maybe I can be around folks that I want to be around instead of have to be around and maybe I can find Jim Morrison and make sure he knows he’s dead now and is OK with it and yes, Ken, I’ll tell Houdini you said ‘hi’ and thanks for not saying John Lennon because I know you like him a lot and he and I have never gotten along that well.

Having written all this, it’s important for me to note I’m not planning on leaving. One always hears about prognosticators who foresaw their own deaths. I don’t think that’s the case here. I just thought of this is all. But if I get biffed in the next few days, I guess we’ll never know for sure.