Morbid

I think this might be my most morbid post ever. Why? Because no one likes to talk about death. Whose? Well, mine.

No, no I’m not looking to or expecting to kick the bucket any time soon. The Universe knows I need to pester people for at least another 40 years.

But yesterday I was talking to my dear friend P and I were talking about how her deceased brother comes around in spirit whenever important days in their family roll around. She said she kinda expects him to “show up” so I asked in return whether she expects me to “show up” frequently if I were to die before her. Her response? “How will I know if you pass away?  Who the heck will tell me????  Ack!”

Of course death isn’t something we like to think about, but it is a fact of our existence.

When I lived in California, I wrote out a list of names and email addresses of the friends I wanted my friend Sam to contact were anything to happen to me. I think it’s time I did that again, considering my best friends aren’t anywhere near me and won’t have reason to hear about any accidents until it’s too late. I don’t want them to be in the dark. That would bother me more than anything else. This time, though, there’s going to be a chain of command, because while I enjoy the friends I have here now, I’m not entirely trusting of them.

Now just to write the letter(s).

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2 thoughts on “Morbid

  1. At least 40 if the rest of my family is to judge, but as I said, because none of my dearest friends – you included – don’t live here, you’d never know it if something were to unexpectedly happen to me.

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