Please make a fucking fuss
I traveled halfway around the world to be something
You will not not cry as if my dying means nothing
Once I thought I was
I thought I could disappear and no one would even know
I liked disappearing
I made a career out of running away
when I first discovered the power of flight.
If I die tomorrow I hope it will be easy
I denounce difficulty
Hard work is too hard
Yet I did wash dishes 10 hours a day
I did walk in below zero temperature to get to work
clutching my lungs as if they were going to fall out
I did wait tables and dealt with messy eaters
Filled up empty condiment bottles with ketchup, soy sauce and vinegar
Smiled until my face hurt for an extra dollar tip
I did take care of children who colored their sky pink and their monsters, purple
When first I crossed the border and my savings ran out
I wanted to go back home
There, where people thought I could be something
I wanted to stay a teenager on my friend’s porch
Drink gin and seven up at dusk
Play mahjong all night
Smoke stolen marlboros until my lungs hurt and my throat, torn to shreds
Pray I do not wake choking in puke and blood-tainted phlegm.
Sometimes the things that keep us alive are the things that kill us
Remember the white guy in Kung Fu found dead in a closet?
Amy Winehouse, Whitney Houston?
The water was still warm in the tub when they found her
And what about that pretty young thing who inched her way to the brink to catch that perfect selfie?
Did she even get to post it?
If I die tomorrow, sure, say some prayers, although I prefer poetry
Toasts and tales and yes, a little karaoke
My dog would lay on my side of the bed waiting for me to pet her
I know at least my daughter would cry
She always cried when sending me off at the airport
I know my husband would tell jokes
And my son would smoke weed all day and hide his grief in the fog.
I read this several times and wonder if I write the same, what would I say. I am just me. I cringe thinking if someone would cry too when I die tomorrow. I hope someone would – at least I know my Mom would. But reading this made me think what it would be like to watch your own funeral and listen to what people say about you. Have I been a good person. Being alone at times is good but turning 50 next years scares as I am not sure what to expect. Keep on writing I love reading them.
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Thank you for this comment, my dear. I’ve been behind work and school stuff so I haven’t updated my blog, but I will. I wrote this after watching an episode of Better Things, the show about a single mom with three girls. In that episode, she asked them straight out what they would say at her funeral. They were joking around, but she was serious and walked out in anger. I mean, after all she’d done for them, right?