My faith tells me that the Lord will take me when I am finished on Earth. I have faith he will do as promised. Although I can’t help but be a bit curious about my demise.
Naturally, children are supposed to outlive their parents. However, being mama makes my heart hurt. It hurts because I eventually will have to leave my child here on Earth. And what an Earth it can be.
Many of my co-workers have been dealing with ailing parents. Watching their parents deteriorate is just sad. My co-workers have had to figure out financial situations and nursing home possibilities. Sometimes, they are beside themselves with these “burdens.” Trying to work while knowing at any minute they could get that call is beyond stressful.
Being a bystander in the midst of all this heart-wrenching time only makes me wish I will die quickly.
I realize it sounds morbid, but I am serious. The thought of Hannah Jo caring for me makes me feel awful. I don’t want her changing my diapers or bathing me. If it came to that, I hope I will be put in a nursing home – which then makes me feel like I would be rotting away.
Ugh. These thoughts are fleeting but real.
Toward the end of your life, you don’t have much control. Sure, you can request a do-not-resuscitate order, and you have your will and testament. What I want is to die quickly! Please, Lord, hear my prayer! On top of that, I want to donate my organs, and then be cremated.
Another wish I have is to have a party at my funeral. I get that wakes and funerals are for those who are grieving, not for the dead, but please tell me I have a say in how I want to be mourned. I want my daughter and grandkids, family and friends to hold onto the good times. I want booze, jokes and color. I don’t mean flowers; I mean no one wears black. I want attendees to wear their happiest outfits. I guess if black is someone’s favorite color, then they can wear it, but it’s not my first choice.
I want a celebration of my life. I want to be looking down on everyone and saying, “Yep that’s right. Life was great.”
It’s a little selfish of me, but I want people to miss me. However, I want them to think of all the fun we had, not how my suffering was finally ended. I want music blasting, and people dancing and telling stories of how I made a sparkle in their life. I will write all this down and have Hannah Jo implement it.
Some readers might be thinking why I haven’t mentioned my hubby dealing with my death. Honestly, I think he will be checking out well before I do. He will tell you in his own words that I am going to give him a heart attack. He can’t handle all this cheekiness!
• Becca Hirst is a proud DeKalb resident who writes about her life as a working mother. She hopes to bring more enjoyment to and less shaming and judging of herself and other mothers. Reach her at firstname.lastname@example.org.