Death and Clean Underwear

“Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I picture my funeral and write eulogies in my head. In the fantasy, I almost always die in some tragic but unavoidable way. A drunk driver mows me down. Or a brain aneurysm. I make sure I suffer little, but die with courage and dignity and clean underwear. I like to think more about the funeral rather than how I die. Who would come? Who would face their fears of public speaking and get their ass to the pulpit? Who would decide that they had better things to do than to show up at all? I wonder if people would cry, and if there is anyone in the world who would hold the tears back for fear of never stopping.”
— Julie Buxbaum