As I sat down to begin the job of researching news articles and seeing whom I might be able to call or visit to get a quote or statement, my wife came into the room, looked around, and sighed heavily.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“This mess,” she answered. “What am I going to do with it if you die before me?”
“Honestly,” I returned, a bit surprised, “I haven’t a clue.”
“Then we should get rid of it,” she said.
“That is easier said than done,” I protested.
“Why, if you don’t have any plans for all this crap?” she added.
It was my turn to sigh.
“All I want when I die is to be remembered for more than taking up space,” I said. “I don’t want to be famous, and I don’t need butt-loads of money, I jus’ wanna be remembered as someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and worked hard to make that happen by writing, painting, taking pictures and collecting stuff that people tend to no longer value.”
“So, in other words I’m stuck with all this shit until after your dead,” she replied.
“Pretty much,” I smiled. “Unless you kick the bucket first.”