You should dance when I die
because you loved me and you knew me.
You should wear my favorite colors:
black and red.
It’ll be okay to cry when you miss me too much,
but the tears should dry as you spin,
laugh and dance for me.
You won’t kill flowers for my Summerland Party.
You should remember that cut flowers made me sad.
But you should bring potted daisies to brighten the place;
pink happy ones to the right of my urn,
and red wild ones to the left of me.
You should keep some of my ashes,
but spread most of my physical remains in the woods.
You should know I’ll want to be trees, soil, flowers…
I’ll want to coat a stone, an old log, a new seed…
I’ll want to be Nature… earth food…
I will, in death, still want to be me.
You should play my favorite music; loud.
At the universe you might shake your fist.
Sometimes you might shout,
“Why did you have to take my love?”
And you might be fucking mad at the world,
angry at me,
But you should still dance when I die
because you’ll remember that I lived.
In 37-Years Wicked, I said that although my birthday was in April, my Piano Man and I planned to celebrate the anniversary of my birth today. Well, we will be celebrating as you read this. I shall tell you about all the delightful debauchery in a future entry. This post is for something else…
Every year, around my birthday or close to All Hallow’s Eve, I update the list of my last wishes. In 2011, I wrote “You’ll Dance When I Die.” 2012 left the list mostly unchanged. 2013 was a very difficult year, but it was a time for teachings given and lessons learned. The events of the last few years have made me less demanding—changed “you will” for “you should”—it seems that time and experience are experts at showing the heart and head that pushing those we love will get us stressed… asking should get us loved.
My Summerland Party List is growing:
1. Pelo suelto, by Gloria Trevi
2. Chopin’s Waltz in A-flat, Op. 69, No. 1
3. Short Skirt/Long Jacket, by Cake
4. Home, by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros
5. I Want You, But I Don’t Need You, by Amanda Palmer
The last song should give my soul at least 13 seconds of silence… and many muffled giggles.
Many—never a witchy person, for most of us embrace the entire Circle of Life—have asked me why I share such grim bits around a happy time. The answer is clear, and very witchy: the scary loses its power over us when we bring it into the light and discuss it with cake and coffee (or tea).
Read you tomorrow, my Wicked Luvs. Today is for brownies, roasted chicken, Sweeney Todd, presents from my Piano Man and the Little Princess… and for letting those who love me spoil me until my blissful giggles-cackles-snorts coat everything around me.
for Open Link Monday
over at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads