Upon my death I want the stars to fall from the sky. I want the moon to turn red, angry at the injustice of it all. I want tears to flow like wine, and grief to be so heavy, so widespread that everything stops for a heartbeat to contemplate how things can go on when I am gone. Or at the least I want just one person to tweet “@SamMcManus u wuz cool, bro #rip #gonetoosoon.”
Upon my death I want everyone to exhale, to let out the breath they’ve been holding for far too long. I want a celebration of all the positive energy I’ve put out into the world. So I guess I should start putting out positive energy into the world sometime soon. I want people to remember me for who I am, not for who I always hoped I would be. Because I’m not perfect, and I don’t want the responsibility, even if I’m already dead.
Upon my death I don’t want to hang around as a ghost. I don’t want to stand by and watch the people in my life go on without me. I don’t want to feel that heartache that comes with knowing they’re doing fine but I can never hold them again. I don’t want to scream into the nothingness that would be my existence and get no reaction. I don’t want to feel emotionally lost again.
Upon my death I want to feel content. If death steals my future from me I want to know that my past was worth the time I spent on it. I want to know that I’ve done all that I can to support my family in every way possible. I want to know that I left nothing out there that I didn’t do my best to tie up. I want to know that at least one thing is better for me having been in this world.
Upon my death I want to be reincarnated so I can live again, because I’m selfish, because I can’t fathom a true end. I can’t imagine an endless void, a blackness so complete that it drowns out everything else. But I also can’t envision a tunnel, or a bright light, or any kind of heaven or hell. I have a hard enough time trying to figure out what I think is going to happen next week.
Upon my death I want to make some kind of deal with god. Because I’m afraid to die.