Not many people get to deliver their own eulogy. Of course, many conscientious folks plan for their passing buying plots of land, prepaying tombstones, listing the music they want grieving family members to hear.
But of course that wasnt enough for me.
It all began when the wife and I visited the Hall of Presidents at Disneyland. We watched Abraham Lincoln solemnly address the crowd of bored mouse-eared tourists, many of whom were simply escaping the heat of a California July and couldnt care less about American history. Old Abe stood before us, big as life, and thats when I nudged my wife, the feverish glimmerings of my diabolical plan burning my scalp with pinpricks of awesome.
Im gonna do that, I whispered to her, but of course she had no idea what I meant. Not then.
I was not obsessed with my death, no not that. Id never given it much thought actually. Death was somethi