Snow Melt

If I Should Die

The October 18, 2013 prompt for "Blogging Circle of Friends Prompt Forum"  is
If you died suddenly and at random, would you want your friends on WDC to know what had happened to you?

I should die suddenly,
at random,
and without forewarning,
please tell the world of my passing
proclaim it across cyberspace,
hyperspace,
and in the obituary column
of every newspaper
on Earth.

I want the world to know
that I once lived,
laughed,
wrote,
and played upon the Earth.

Yes, I want my friends on WDC to know what happened to me. I do not want anyone to ask "Do you know what happened to Snow?" I want everyone on the planet to know, even if they ask "Who is Snow?" I want them to know I was here for a short few years writing about "the changes and chances of outrageous fortune". I want one or more of my friends to go to my offsite blogs and post a last remembrance or a funny joke.

At my funeral, I want bagpipes to play "Amazing Grace" and all the mourners to read poetry or prayers. After my casket is lowered into the ground and covered with dirt, I want everyone to go to a restaurant and order coffee with death by chocolate cake or some other decedent desert. At the restaurant I want them to read my poetry or their poetry or somebody's. I want my friends and family to celebrate my life and, even if I am 110 years old when I die, I want them to say "Snow died too young!"

I want the entire world to know that my song has not died. I want them to know that I am still singing, I am just singing in another dimension, my voice is echoing on another plain of existence. I want everyone to know that the body that was placed in my coffin was not the real me, rather the cup holding the coffee and that my spirit, was like the steam rising from a hot cup of coffee, the memory is still percent after the steam has dispersed.

Thought of the Day: “...Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word it always was. Let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.” ― Rosamunde Pilcher, September