After

Wake me when I'm gone.

When I die, do not make it a quiet thing. Don't stand quietly, and talk softly. Remember me as who I was to you, not an idealized ghost. Drink, and eat, and pretend I'm there drinking and eating with you.

Do not lay flowers - I wasn't interested in them in life, and won't be after. Lay art, made things, and tell stories. Tell them from the heart, and tell them about everything. Tell them by your means. Tell them badly, if you need to, but tell them long into the night, long after you should've been in bed.

If I am ashes, scatter them everywhere. If I'm buried, make the grave an interesting one.

Dance and sing, if you need. I was good at neither, but I am not the one who is remembering.

Tell the truth about me. Don't tiptoe or whisper. Don't edit out my mistakes. Don't edit out the triumphs, either. Rage against me, if you would, and cry, if you need, and make a point to laugh.

Remember me. And remember that memory is all we ever are.

Make my wake a night for the books. Tell secrets. Get drunk. Make unwise decisions, and learn from the results. Break things. Make new things with the scraps.

Make the funeral a parade. Bring strangers. Play music, sing, dance, orate, write.

And if you need, long after I'm gone, someone to listen, talk to me. Tell me stories. They're my very favourite things.

Wake me when I'm gone.