Long ago my Dad was in the hospital and told me that his cancer was terminal, that he had six months to live if he went on chemotherapy or six weeks to live without it, and he decided to go with the six week option.
He got as far as, "six months to live" when I began to cry. I wasn't able to talk by the time he got to "six week option."
He paused after the announcement, and listened to me sob quietly for a moment. Then he said, in a tone that suggested that this was not the reaction he expected, he said, "... Well ... don't cry." As if to say, "Aren't you overreacting just a little? I'm just dying."
(He then spent his hospice calling up old friends, making small talk for a minute, and then, "Turns out I'm going to die in a few weeks." I hope none of them cried.)
When Mom was in the hospital, and found out she was going to die, I was already weeping on a regular basis anyway. One day I came in and a nurse pulled me aside and said, "Your Mom is worried about you. She feels you're crying too much."
I want you all to know, when I die I expect the full complement of the Gnashing of the Teeth and Rending of Garments. When the time comes, if there is any question of What Ellen Would Have Wanted, I would have wanted you to be unhappy.
Duly noted. :-) (I would, by the way, be unhappy. But I do not typically rend garments; does shredding paper into tiny little pieces count?)
Posted by: KC | September 21, 2019 at 11:54 AM
KC -whatever helps you cope with my loss.
Posted by: TheQueen | September 22, 2019 at 05:03 PM
Can't promise I'll be as sorry as I am about my seagull, but the departure will be noted with regret. (Perhaps should have used conditional tense here.)
Posted by: Big Dot | September 22, 2019 at 09:02 PM
Big Dot - the world should mourn your inspirational seagull.
Posted by: TheQueen | September 23, 2019 at 01:32 PM