End of life Plan

If I am hospitalized and unable to communicate, I want someone to remember to apply Burt’s Bees regularly to my lips. I mean every twenty minutes. Do not let them dry out.

Don’t let me be thirsty. I am afraid of thirst. Do not let anyone play the ukulele near me. I know it sounds funny, but I promise you, it happens. It does. I do not want anyone touching my face unless it is in service of the aforementioned balming, but if I am drooling it’s alright to wipe saliva away. Don’t for crying out loud put makeup on me or try to make me pretty. No floral scents. No baby powder smelling hand lotion, no nail polish, no waxy perfumed shit on my skin. Attached is a list of people I do not want in the in the room, I do not wish to be forgiven or to forgive. You may read to me and I don’t much care what, as long as it’s not The Underpainter.

For the love of all that’s holy do not let my toenails grow past the ends of my toes. Do not let my fingernails get long. The very thought repels me. Don’t speak to me like I’m stupid or a child or a chihuahua or some combination of the three. Please don’t ask me questions I can’t answer, and don’t say “we”; I am me and you are you, and we are not we as long as you’re the only one doing the talking.
There are people I would like to see, and they might or might not be able to see me depending on what’s happening in their lives. If for some reason my ex husband outlives me, I will take it as evidence of a vengeful God. I do not want him in the room when I die. Kristi is in charge of keeping people out if need be.

I know that several of the people I love most do not love one another. They can fight it out at the funeral, which I expect will be quite a spectacle. I prefer not to have more than two people in the room with me at any given time. Respect that I will continue to be me up until the moment I become a dead person, and the person I am needs to be alone a lot of the time. Don’t let me be scared by myself, if you can help it, but by all means let me be alone. Tell me stories about the world. Do not tell me to fight. Do not tell me what I have to do. Respect my process, respect that I have been preparing for this all my life. Respect that I love you and I know myself better than you do, no matter how close we are. Know that if I have chosen you to be with me it is because I trust you completely. I trust you with my dying, and I trust you with my body, and I trust you with my heart, and I trust you with myself. Do not try to make me eat things. Do not tell me you need me to get better. Tell me what you’re going to do after. Tell me about what the ocean is doing and what the trees are doing and what the fish and the moths are doing and whether you’ve named the spider in your kitchen, and please try not to be tedious.

I would like a natural burial, but I know that there is red tape and expense and that it’s impractical to bury me at home, so cremate me and take me to the north Atlantic; J, I charge you with bringing me to the ocean. You will know the place, and if you don’t, the beach by Sarah’s in Cape Breton will do very well. Try to choose your moment. I would rather not be blown back in your face and that’s probably best for you too. I don’t love the idea of my body burning, but I don’t see why I should be exempted from the fate of the rest of life on earth.

I will inevitably have pets when I die, and whoever they are and whatever their names, show them my body before you send me off. Remember that grief belongs to them as well, and care for them in theirs. If I have dogs, they should be J’s. If I have cats, they should be R’s. I trust each of you to make provision for them if you need to. I trust you to make good decisions.

I lived the better part of my life, possibly not the longer part but by far the better part, doing exactly what I wanted to do with very little compromise. I recognize my tremendous privilege and I also feel completely entitled to have lived as I have, and I want and expect my death to follow suit. Depending on my cause of death, I would like to die in hospice or in hospital, in that order. I want my loved ones to have time with my body after my death. If it is reasonable from a meteorological perspective, I would like a window open. I would like water in my room during my illness and at the hour of my death. I would like my body washed by my children and partner. Do not even think of embalming me.

If I am in medical distress and likely to die, I do not wish to receive CPR. I do not wish to be placed on a ventilator.

I am a registered organ donor and consent to the removal of my eyes and vital organs after my deat
I want to be remembered as I am: loving, courageous, angry, and funny. If you forget that I am funny I will come for you. I want you all to be funnier when you remember me. It’s not easy. You have to work on it, and I expect that of you. You better grieve me, you fucks. You better cry your eyes out, and you better laugh and you better do right by spiders and wasps. You better make art like your lives depend on it. You better not quit. You better remember that to be alive at the end of the world is a terrible gift, but still a gift, and you better honour it with your joy. You better be joyful. I love you. So long.

Fragment,
24”x24”
oil on linen,
2022.