I Don’t Want To Die On An Empty Stomach

I have a lot of “Last Time” anxiety.

What will be the last song I hear? What will be the last voice I hear? What will be the last food I eat?

That last one.

Fuck.

Seriously, if the last thing I drink and eat is gas station coffee and a stale donut, I am coming back and haunting everyone forever because I am going to be pissed the fuck off.

Randy and I spend a lot of time watching food videos on Youtube. From Sean Evans on Hot Ones to random recipes.

I can’t control much, probably very little. But something I can do? I can make baked apple slices that will make your tongue hard. I can follow a recipe and very nearly always make it come out amazing. I mean, other than the hundred dollar cake.

I just want the last thing I eat to be satisfying.

I want to swallow and think “that was everything I needed it to be.”

That’s what she said. 

The last song I want to hear? It has to be Walking On Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves.

The last voice I hear?

I could lie and say the last voice I want to hear is Randy’s. Please don’t get me wrong, I love his voice. I am grateful for every moment we have together, but the last voice I want to hear?

I want to hear my mother say “You’re the tops. You’re the Mona Lisa”

When she says that to me, it means everything. I’m the tops. I am the goddamn Mona Lisa. Because until I die, her voice is the one that settles my brain.

Also, she’d probably be happy with that gas station donut.

glazed donut

My mother is a goddamn freak for donuts. In fact, I have implicit instructions.

If she is terminal and still able to eat? I am to supply a dozen glazed donuts to her daily until she can no longer eat.

If I am able, I will honor that request.

Now excuse me, I am going to try to find a way to climb out of this mortality fear pit I’ve been living in for a while.

 

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20 comments

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  • A couple of decades ago I went loony about making funeral arrangements. That was before I was getting inundated with mail about funeral costs. It went on for weeks until I finally put my foot down and said to Ken, that we had to do this in order for me to ever get to sleep again. It’s good that we did pre-arrange as I’d never have afforded the costs today. As it was, we were paying for 2 boxes and 1 site (insert joke here) monthly for almost 2 years. Like a mortgage. But I never thought of a bucket list of things to do just prior. Boy, this was a depressing subject and now I’m going to do something silly and forget about it. Maybe get a glazed donut.

  • I know the mortality hell pit all too well these days. How can we not think of it when everyday the news gets scarier? Or maybe it’s always been this way. Whatever, hope you have your favorite foods on hand when your time draws nigh.

  • Damn, this is a Monday of memories. You’ve got me tearing up about the last song I might hear etc.
    What this will do is make me grateful for each day, each hour we are given. Have a good one, Beth

  • When my grandmother was in the hospital the last thing she asked for was a milkshake. My father was going to go out to get one for her but she lost consciousness and passed away before he left which is fortunate. I’m glad he was there. But he went and got a milkshake and put it on a stand next to her casket at the funeral home. It sat there for three days.
    I have a crazy aunt–one of my grandmother’s daughters–who only showed up about ten minutes before the funeral and left immediately afterward, wouldn’t even visit the grave site, but she grabbed that milkshake on her way out and I saw her drinking it.
    She’s not a nice person, if you couldn’t guess, but, you know, that act was kind of admirable. At least she got to enjoy a three-day old milkshake.

    • For all that is fucking holy, people are weird. And funerals bring out the worst of the weirdness in my experience. It just isn’t a funeral unless people are fighting over who is going to take home which flowers. Fucking ghouls.

  • My friend Dirty Dan did dope. I mean, a lot of dope. Speed, mostly. When he was hospitalized for advanced bone marrow cancer the second time, everyone knew he wouldn’t be coming out of that hospital alive. He had hundreds of visitors, all wanting to do nice things for him, but none wanting to do what he really wanted, which was to give him a blowjob. They didn’t call him “Dirty Dan” because of his hygiene.
    When asked what would make him feel better while he was still among the living, he said “Salt. The food here is so bland I can barely eat it. I don’t know why the fuck they won’t give me any, maybe they’re concerned about my blood pressure?” So salt it was. We smuggled it into his room in a ziplock baggie, hoping that it would make him feel more like home. Apparently it did. He hid it from the nurses in the case to a porn video. Dan was a joy to know.
    I hope you find your way out of your mortality anxiety. I say live while you can.

  • Personally,
    When I die, I want to die with an empty stomach, empty bowels, empty intestines. Empty everything, really, because when things…relax…and, apparently, they do, I don’t want someone saying, “Ew, what’s that awful smell? She really was full of shit, wasn’t she?” Also, it’s kind of weird hearing that your mom calls you The Mona Lisa because, you know, that really is my name. I know, I had weird parents. Such is life. Mona

  • I completely admit I just downloaded, “Walking on Sunshine”. It is 2am, and I’m tempted to wake up the neighbourhood. (No, I will adult and not do that….headphones.) I’m attending a funeral today, my dad has dementia….I get where you’re coming from. We control the small things we can. Like doing the dishes. Pretty much everything else is out of our control. So, go with something like I do…I can dj my life and music saves me from much of the sadness. Unless I listen to Leonard Cohen. Then I’m a vampire. Stay safe Michelle. It’s not all good. It’s not all bad either. Much love from Canada.

By Michelle

Michelle

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