When I Die

When I Die

When I die, wear white to my funeral. Do not mourn my absence, for it's inevitable and natural; instead, celebrate the person that you'll now carry in your soul and not your contact list. Call everyone-those who knew me, who wanted to know me, who didn't know me but knew my name, call them all and play good music, eat spicy food, tell happy stories. I do not want the last gathering under my name to be one of sorrow or sadness or worst of all regret. I want people to see me for the last time as I hope they have my entire life--among them, cheerful, not worried of what comes after or from this, but content with how things can be. I want to be remembered as the human I was--talk about my flaws, my shortcomings; celebrate my virtues and vices, but do not idolize my passing. Laugh at my funeral, tell jokes, have fun and make love. I will not be the cause of pulling people together into a knot of melancholy and despair. Wear white to my funeral.