Consider them very carefully for you will have only this chance and you don’t want to add those which ought not be included or be forever burdened by those you overlooked or misassumed you wanted to retain. When you are quite certain you are finished, that your list is exactly as you wish it, that all your dislikes and regrets are properly delineated, then walk slowly to the river, pen at the ready, and write them with a precise hand upon the water.
They clearly don’t get it and odds are they never will. They think perhaps prayer will work or youth will provide some sort of immunity, maybe an executive decree, good luck with that given the swinging there to that old White House, with the ridiculous spiked fence in the middle of an avenue named first state that’s actually a Commonwealth. They can’t imagine I have a list And all I do is make pickups and drop offs, no thinking, no planning just show up, tie up to the pier and then it’s off down and across the River all day and night, in and out for a payment you ‘llonly make begrudgingly, as if I care, for I have a family to feed too, remember.
I called my mother the other day and she did not answer, which she would always do when I called. The dead, I concluded, no longer play by the rules they did when they were still alive. Of course she will call me soon, disrupting my sleep, and chastise me for not trying again. But she will quickly slip into reading the list of what she expects from me, for either living or dead, mother’s expectations must always be met, no matter what.