When I die one day, and I just might, though the idea currently seems absurd, I hope that in lieu of some phony ceremony wherein people I didn’t like and who didn’t like me much show up and pretend to mourn so that later they can eat Kentucky Fried Chicken and potato salad, somewhere, in a barn or other venue of my wife’s choosing, they play this song (“Many Faces” by Jonathan Butler) as accompaniment to my favorite photos, which I will have pre-selected. The song shall be played on repeat until everyone, like me, knows all the words that Jonathan doesn’t sing.
Perhaps if there is time, and the inclination, someone can read a few of my stories that none but my wife will have read.
If not, then have a pint of Guinness in my memory, and spill a drop or two for me. I’ll know. If I love you, I’ll know.