Death, dying, the end, the light, and morbidity

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Not sure what to make of this.

Finishing my matinee I spoke to a friend — let’s call him “Trevor” — and Trevor recently visited a friend of his in another part of the country who is dying.

“Were you happy you got to see him?”
“I needed to see him. I was able to talk with him in a way that I’ve always wanted to, but for some reason never did.”

I thought this was positive and certainly a reminder to make the most of your friendships, don’t wait to tell people secrets, hidden ideas, even silly notions.

This evening, however, I came home and struck up a conversation with my neighbor who is always animated and robust (feel like I’m describing a beer) a true talker, a spinner of tales, a great addition to humanity. Tonight was different.

“My grandmother passed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“My mother was able to be with her for the last couple of years. Now my uncles and aunts are battling it out for her life insurance policy.”

Apparently, she wanted to be cremated — one of the family didn’t want that, so now the body is in limbo, or more specifically — in an icebox. Waiting to be vilified or negated by the judicial system.

Two opposite experiences — both of which I’ve heard before, but never on the same day. I should make a will. I would love if people fought over my money:

“I want his student loan debt!”
“I want his credit card debt!”

Nice. Maybe where to bury me. Bury me at McDonalds. Ha. Seriously, that was a joke. Don’t you dare bury me at a Mcdonalds (probably not legal). I don’t think I care where I get buried. My mom is in Florida, but I never really got a long with Florida. Maybe Montreal. Either way, it will mean so little to me because hopefully my time will be occupied by entities, dimensions, and the space time continuum.

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