The Sand And The Waves

I'm going to get morbid here for a minute. Don't be scared, I've just been thinking.

When I die, I would like my funeral to be a party. I want all my friends there (don't make me come and get you). I want rustic food and wine served to all (ok, except me, I won't have a use for it by then).

I also want music. I'd be happy knowing you were comfortable.

I do not want vapid speeches about how kind or friendly I was, although you can mention that I loved my family very much. I don't want a long boring service in a musty building, in fact, have it outdoors if it's in the summer, with Hawaiian shirts and sun dresses.

I just want you all to talk. Talk about anything, but mostly about our time together, and what it meant to you. Tell each other stories, because if I care about anything, it's knowing that I made your lives a little more enjoyable and fulfilling through shared experiences.

I'd be happy knowing you laughed more than you cried.

And when it is over, spread my ashes on a nice beach somewhere, perhaps Pentwater. Heather and I both spent lazy summer vacations there playing on the shore of Lake Michigan in our youths, long before we met.

I'd be happy knowing I was on that beach with all those good memories, and not in some old scary cemetery that means nothing to me.

But let's not dwell on that any more right now. The present time is for life. And I hope I have a happy long time left before I am feeling the waves of Lake Michigan for the last time.