A condition called Life

I’m diagnosed with a condition called Life. It is a genetic disease that causes abnormalities in cell replication. Over time these mistakes accumulate and the tissues are irreversibly damaged. It usually affects the cardiovascular or pulmonary systems first; but it could attack my bones, my brain, or my kidneys. The prognosis isn’t good. I learned when I was very young that the mortality rate is 100%. Not too long ago it was so common for sufferers to die before the age of 5, that parents would have a dozen kids just so a few would make it to adulthood. With the advances in modern medicine it’s hard to say whether I’ll make it to 25 or 125.

Anxiety and depression are highly co-morbid with this condition. Like so many others confronted with a terminal illness I struggled with hopelessness, fear, and anger. Life’s complications seem to be endless. Some of them are treatable at least, but it seems for every problem there is a pill, and for every pill is a problem. I used to ask, “What’s the point? Why me? Why should I go through all this pain and suffering if I’m just going to die in the end anyway?”

Sometimes Life can make it difficult to enjoy even the little things. In response to some recent test results my doctor said, “It appears you are allergic to planet Earth.” My allergies include trees, flowers, kittens, puppies, ice-cream, and rainbows.

It took me a while, but I finally figured out the point. This is the point. Right here right now I have everything I need to be happy. In this moment I can choose bliss or sorrow, hope or helplessness. I can’t control the future, and I can’t predict how this is all going to end. In the meantime I’ll be right here; right where I should be…firmly rooted in the present.

I’ve made peace with Life, but visiting the hospital so frequently has made me start thinking about Death. Death and I made peace a while back, but I never really thought about the specifics.

I used to think that I didn’t want a funeral. All those people crying in black seemed stupid. Why make such a fuss over the inevitable? Then I realized after I’m dead it’s really not about me anymore. Perhaps it never was. Nonetheless, I have a couple favors to ask. First things first, you’ve got this dead body on your hands. What now?

Do you know how much effort I’ve gone through to eat organically? The last thing I want you to do is stuff me full of preservatives and stick me in one of those plush $6,000 vacuum sealed coffins. Save your money and buy yourself something pretty. What do I care? I’m dead, remember?

Instead please recycle. Salvage what organs you can and give them to someone who can use them. As for the rest of me donate my body to science so that I can contribute to the betterment of mankind. Or find a natural burial graveyard where they bury you in a simple pine box and plant a tree over your grave. I hear they put a little stone marker with a GPS chip so you can find the grave amongst the forest, and they reuse the plots every 50 years or so. I like the idea of being food for something green.

I know it means closed casket. Get a picture or a hologram or something. I don’t want your last image of me to be like one of those creepy wax museum things.

Regarding the funeral…

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I have the best friends anyone could ask for. Someone was always there to help me pick up the pieces of my life. In return I hope I was able to touch your life in a meaningful way, and maybe I was able to help you discover what makes you feel most alive. If we know death is coming like a train that’s lost its breaks, I’d like to take a page out of Morrie’s book (Check out Tuesdays with Morrie, it’s not the best book ever, but it’s a short and thoughtful read) and have a “Living Funeral.” That way I get to hear all those nice things you were planning on saying.

If for some reason I can’t make it, I’d like to say, “I don’t want you to mourn my death, I want you to celebrate my life,” and “Don’t be sad. I had a wonderful time here with you,” but that would be unfair. It is sad to lose someone you cared about. It’s ok to cry or not to cry. It’s ok to feel numb, confused, or even kind of glad. Everyone is affected differently and at different times. I remember when my friend Bobie passed; it didn’t hit me until I had to break the news to someone else.

The funeral is about you not me. Wear whatever makes you feel comfortable. I never was one for conformity. Don’t just stand around awkwardly thinking, “What do you say at these things.” Talk to each other, comfort one another, and swap hilarious and embarrassing stories. I’m all about bringing people together. Maybe you’ll rediscover an old friend, or just maybe my death could be the birth of a new friendship.

In lieu of the flowers, (which by the way are probably picked by an undocumented immigrant working in horrific conditions) could someone please set something up so that people could donate to a youth empowerment fund? Thanks. That’d be super.

Some time after things have settled down, a month, a year, on my birthday or whatever’s convenient for you…this is how I’d like you to pay your last respects.

1. I love food, and I would love it if my friends and family could sit down for a bigass potluck. I want you all to bring the dishes that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Then I want you to eat, drink, and be merry. I think that sharing food is one of the most important things you can do.

2. Throw a bigass party. I don’t care of you’re all old geezers I want you to party like we did in the good old days. Pick your poison, I don’t care if you stay sober or get fucked up, I want you to party. I want you to get reckless. I want you to dance.

3. I always thought visiting graves was a strange practice. If you wish to feel close, it makes more sense to visit a place where you were close. So if you ever find yourself feeling alone go (perhaps mentally) to a place where we shared good times. It could be old posse house, Eastgate pool, Merry Ann’s diner, or Allerton Park. Put on that movie/song we always played, write me a letter, or just talk. I’m sure in some sense I’ll be listening.

4. Be as kind to yourself as you were to me. I know I didn’t always deserve it. Relish in being alive. Be as completely present as you can whether you’re working, walking, eating, running, making love, or just kickin it, because where ever you go…there you are.

Much love,
Emily

P.S. I don’t care how long it’s been or why we stopped talking. I’m not dead yet so hit me up.