Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Not literally tomorrow. Seriously, don't die tomorrow.

Sometimes I’m philosophical about death. I think of the circle of life, death making way for birth and all that. Flowers are born from seeds, and they die to be reborn as more flowers.

Not today. Today, fuck that kumbaya crap.  

I want my mother and father back. I’m looking at pictures of an uncle who died of cancer recently, and I want to hear his voice again. I saw him seven months ago. He wasn’t a healthy man then, but you’d  have been hard-pressed to tell by looking at him. I wasn’t there at the end, but I remember what mom looked like, so I can imagine it. I want them all back, and I want the new people, too, because I’m a greedball, and as long as I’m wishing, I’m going to wish big. I’m going to shake my tiny fist at the stupid poopy-headedness of it all, and then I’m going to put my fist down, because that’s a lot of shaking, and I don’t work out.  

Today, I don’t want to pretend this all ends well in some chick-flick way where we learn something valuable at the end and become better people for it. Mostly, it just sucks and you pack it away somewhere because there’s other shit to do. Then you write the narrative where you’re the hero of your own story, and you come out wiser and stronger for it, because we like endings that mean something.

I don’t believe in an afterlife. Not really. Sometimes I do, when it’s nice to stop missing people so much and just pretend. I can’t bring myself to pretend full-time, though. Religion would make this stuff easier, but once you’ve stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy, you can’t ever go back.  

I told Devon that he’s not allowed to die before me. The worst thing about my uncle’s funeral wasn’t saying goodbye to him: It was watching his wife, my aunt, cry beside his body, crushed under the weight of too many losses. With many of her siblings and her friends dead and her own advancing cancer, her world has gotten very small. Devon pointed out that, statistically, he is likely to die well before me. I told him that if he kept talking like that, he was going to die a lot sooner than he expected.

I’ll be fine tomorrow. Life is too short and precious to dwell infinitely on the inevitable end of it all. But today I am going to dwell. And probably drink wine.