Being the artist previously known as Suicidal, I spent a lot of time thinking about death. My death, in particular. You tend to have a bit of time on your hands while sitting on a bed in the white padded crazy room in the hospital, and I had a lot of time to reflect on just how south of the border of normal my back tires slid after trying to top myself.

I never really thought about death before and I certainly never feared it-it's one of the advantages of having little self-value and a whole lotta' issues, as adventures just mean you are that much closer to living. I'll be the first to strap that bungee cord on. I'll be the first to jump the high dive.

If I'm too busy worrying about dying, I may never get on with the living.

Even though I am no longer suicidal, I still don't really fear dying. It's not like I want to party with the Grim Reaper or anything, but I am ready to punch out on the time clock when the time comes-I won't fuss, I won't ask my closest love one to beg the man with the scythe. I don't think about consequences for myself (although I do for others), but I like to think that death will come for me once I have learned everything that I am supposed to learn. I am not coming back again to live life among the living once I have kicked the irreverent bucket-I may not believe in myself, but I think I have earned myself a deck chair in the sun, supplied with margaritas and interesting books for the rest of eternity.

Wednesday and Thursday I had masses of meetings and a horrible migraine. I have a boss on the wrong side of crazy, and PMS so bad that I could rip doors off their hinges with my teeth and suck the iron out of the hardware. I went to order some coffee and saw that the coffee shop had a huge, delectable chocolate shake-number that made my brain scream: Buy me that and I'll be your bitch! Please! On behalf of your ovaries, for the love of God, buy the chocolate shake! But remembering that I am bikini-bound in less than a week, I bought coffee with skim milk instead.

On the train I thought about my life (as I tend to do when I've finished my book and have time on my hands). I thought what it meant to be someone who has survived. I thought about what it means when I finally decide to become organic landfill.

And I wrote my own eulogy.

You know, as one does.

I wrote it in my head, from my own perspective. I stepped out of myself and took a critical look at myself and who I am. It's not in any way morbid or any kind of longing for death and also not planned as any kind of self-indulgence or self-promotion, just what I would say about myself if I ever let me get close enough to say something. So here goes.

***********************************

Hi. Welcome to my funeral. God, that sounds so weird, huh? Welcome to my funeral. It's like I should be a hostess offering up a martini cocktail and a key bowl. I hope you grabbed a complimentary lei by the door, and please don't sit near the back as there will be a karaoke session later that will require each and every one of you to shtup up to the mike.

Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I've lost my sense of humor, you know.

Sorry I couldn't be here, but I have a deck chair with my name written all over it. And even if I was around, I wouldn't have wanted to come-I never liked get-togethers very much, and I certainly would've felt weird about people standing around and talking about me (I'm already paranoid), all the while wondering what kind of nosh is going to be served at the wake (psst-you like BBQ ribs? You do? Really? Well too bad. I'm serving falafels).

I want to tell you about the real me, the one that people maybe don't know about, things that are going to get forgotten about in the dust and importance of time. Things like...did you know that I prefer my Cap'n Crunch when it gets to the just-soggy stage? Not too crunchy, not to soft? Did you know that I hated fingernail polish, I feel that it suffocated my fingernails? Did you know that I never forgave people who hung up the phone on me? Did you know that my favorite flower was the lily and that I hated bananas? Did you know that my feet were enormous and that I had a birthmark on my left hip that looks like a perfect thumbprint put in under the flesh? That when people prefaced a sentence with "To tell you the truth", or "I gotta' be honest with you" I automatically suspected them of lying to me?

I know that's all boring stuff (yeah, I'm speaking to you. The one in the back pew, the one knitting. Try not to look so bored, and I will not need that sweater where I am gong, m'kay?). I know it doesn't really matter. But I did some things that did matter, too. I had many lives in many places. I never took a trip somewhere and regretted it, I never saw a different country and wished I hadn't gone there. I have photographs in my mind of things I have seen that have kept me alive and kept me hoping. I took chances, I jumped off the train platform onto the moving train more times than I can count. I jumped out of an airplane and I've been down the Blue Hole. I took every chance to fall in love and I never regretted a single one of them.

And when I loved someone I loved them more than I ever knew I could.

As I got older, I found that stupidly the simplest things made my happy. It wasn't about the right coffee table or the designer clothes. It was walking across a bridge on a sunny day. A rubber duck. The light coming through a suncatcher. Wind chimes. A Magic 8 Ball. Something happened inside of me when I was as a child, and those of you who know me know that my house was filled with toys that I laughed at as I struggled to set that trapped child inside of me free.

I was a pain in the ass. I was insanely insecure and filled with self-doubt. When I had PMS I was so difficult that you could have killed me and been excused by the jury with a sympathetic nod of the head and a Geez, man, she was nuts! She so deserved having her head stuffed into the garbage disposal! Hey-you don't have to nod so vigorously there, ok? I totally know I sucked when I had PMS, I don't need any comments from the peanut gallery on that one. I struggled with low self-esteem and low confidence. I often felt inadequate, a fraudster pretending to be normal around the rest of the human race. I was petrified of having my writing rejected and so it sits gathering digital cobwebs in my hard drive. The grief I felt at hurting anyone cut me far longer than it cut them.

After crashing and burning I never again understood the corporate blood drive that was my daily existence. I was constantly amazed by people and the things they did, I simply never understood how people worked and looked on them in wonder. And that's the thing-maybe we should all walk around without blinders on. Maybe we should all regard the baby on the train or the loving couple under the bridge. Maybe we're missing something by not catching the details.

I was so far from perfect-I fucked up all the time. Seriously. I was constantly bungling something and having to get out of some kind of mischief. I made mistakes on a daily basis, I often found myself in some version of hell, but the one thing that I liked about myself was this-I didn't get smug or arrogant about "lessons learned" or "bravery". I just shrugged, chalked it up to just getting through life, and went about making more mistakes. 'It's just survival', I used to say. 'Bravery is for heroes, survival is for the rest of us.' The amazing thing is, often my fuck-ups led to the most remarkable fork in the road, a new way of thinking and a whole new set of adventures.

And if you want to take anything from the buffet table that is Helen, this is the one thing I want you to take from my life: I made mistakes-good Lord, I made mistakes-but I never let it stop me from living. So go about life, make mistakes, ask questions, screw up, and enjoy the mistakes you make. Laugh and learn and know that it makes you human and normal and just like everyone else. And the thing about mistakes is, if you make them and admit them and just keep swimming, you appear just that much more alive to everyone else around you.

So this is me saying goodbye. I'm going to play the song I always wanted at my funeral now and I'm going to sit back with my frozen margarita with salt. I won't be checking in on any of you so don't go getting all paranoid now-I'm not remotely interested in watching you on the toilet or taking a shower-I already have Kafka, I don't need the heebie-jeebies either, thanks. Thank you for letting me take up space with you in the short time we had. Thank you for accepting my faults and limitations, and know this-I loved each and every one of you very much (except you, Rooster. Fuck off and get out of my funeral as you are not welcome to my free booze) and I'll see you on the other side, ok? I'll be there with a margarita and a chair next to mine, and we can laugh and compare notes.

And for those I love, I say this: Save yourself. Look at the world and play with toys and count on who you are inside getting you through things. Strap on the bungee cord, bunk out of the meeting, buy toys, eat that slice of cheesecake, do something you never thought you were brave enough to do. Hug your child, eat a snowflake, and get a passport. Screw up and shrug and go about your daily living. Life is not ours to take but mistakes are ours to make, and for God's sake, fall in love every chance you get.

Turns on Green Day's "Good Riddance", puts on shades, and heads for the deck chair by the water.

***********************************

And if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go buy some fixings for a chocolate shake.

Life's too short, after all.

-H.

PS-Paul...please go have a shake, too. It may make you smile.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:14 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
Post contains 1871 words, total size 10 kb.

1 Excellent advice. I know the toy I want: http://www.backyardartillery.com/productinfo.php?item=82500&ret=//rbguns/index.php

Posted by: Jim at February 25, 2005 12:07 PM (MDLz3)

2 How about shakes for the whole class?

Posted by: drew at February 25, 2005 01:22 PM (CBlhQ)

3 Perfect timing. I just attended my grandmother's funeral yesterday and your words hit home. Life goes on. Thanks.

Posted by: Ice Queen at February 25, 2005 01:48 PM (Ct/0E)

4 yay for chocolate shakes and all they may represent of living life to the fullest.

Posted by: martha at February 25, 2005 01:54 PM (ruqJv)

5 hey I am not knitting at your funeral, I am looking for the bacardi, cause all funerals should be parties and the goal is to get the sweater to you before you kick any buckets. Might even happen in person in the coming months

Posted by: stinkerbell at February 25, 2005 02:19 PM (m18uI)

6 Burn me up and spread the ashes in the dirt around home plate, then let's have a beer and PLAY BALL! That's it for my eulogy. (PS- I am OK. Thanks for your concern.)

Posted by: Easy at February 25, 2005 02:35 PM (u1JaB)

7 Want to know how dorky I am? As I sat and read this amazing post, I was thinking ... "Gee. It's impressive that she's switching between present and past tense in the same sentence, talking about herself as if she's still here and she's gone, because that's what people tend to do when someone dies - alternate the tense." I know. I'm so lame I should be poisoned.

Posted by: amy t. at February 25, 2005 03:39 PM (zPssd)

8 um, what kind of toys are we talking about here?Mmmmmm, toys, chocolate. Good combo for a little holiday I say!

Posted by: justme at February 25, 2005 03:55 PM (GDUQZ)

9 mmm, chocolate shakes! great eulogy my dear. and i so agree...it's all the little stuff that make living so fuckin fabulous. xoxoxo

Posted by: kat at February 25, 2005 10:17 PM (ejrqO)

10 Brilliant and touching, as usual. I had a big ol' chocolate-peanut butter sundae today--ALMOST a milkshake!

Posted by: Marian at February 26, 2005 05:00 AM (TER9M)

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