I have five minutes. Literally five minutes before the next thing happens and I have to go away so I have to be quick.
It suddenly struck me I'd like to say what I'd like to happen when I die. (Not that I'm planning (or expecting) this event to be imminent.) (But bearing 'famous last words' in mind!)
So . . . quickly . . .
I don't want anyone to celebrate. Why should I hope my family will not be sad to see me go? They might be, of course. But I hope not. (I don't think they will - though they might be relieved that they will never again have to suffer my bad temper and irrational moods.)
I don't want eulogies at my funeral. Anyone who loves me knows about me already so they won't need to be told. To anyone else, who I was will have become irrelevant - information beyond its sell-by date.
On my headstone (small, roughly cast, unpolished (UNPOLISHED) granite) I'd like it to say 'She Was'. That's it. 'She Was'.
Five minutes up.
* * *
I missed something.
There should be no curb to my grave; nor gravel to make it look like a mini parking lot. There should be grass. It must never be less than three inches high. It may grow till it flowers if it likes. And it shouldn't cover as much ground as I am tall. Maybe half that.