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.
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.
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.
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.