by Doug Smith
“You always talk about it. It’s all you ever talk about,” said Ian’s wife.
“Nobody else does, and they should,” said Ian.
“But you talk about it all the time. Ever since I met you ten years ago you’ve been talking about your dying. And for Christ’s sake, you’ve even had that godforsaken death file the entire time.”
“It’s important to be prepared.”
“Up to a point. But I think you’ve gone way beyond that point.”
“We should always be prepared. Buddhist monks believe that meditating upon our impermanence is the most important meditation there is. Some Christian monks even sleep in coffins to remind them of their impending death.”
“But Ian, you’re not a monk.”
“Still, it’s important to be prepared.”
***
Ian’s death file included his will, the obituary he wanted for the newspaper, some instructions for his funeral service (including the hymns to be sung), several hand-written messages to give to loved ones, a listing of the value of his stocks and bonds (updated monthly), the names of the people needing to be contacted upon his death (several names crossed out over time, several penciled in)—the death file housed in a nice-looking blue plastic folder.
Now that he was spending his final days in a hospice house (the same facility his wife had been in two years ago), Ian reviewed the folder’s contents twice a day. First thing in the morning and last thing at night. When not examining the death file, he stored it in a drawer of a bedside cabinet. Not wanting anyone to pry into his personal matters, he placed the folder beneath a large welcoming brochure for the hospice house.
When Ian died, the funeral home escorted his body out of the room. After the body was removed, a janitor—following his normal procedure—went into the room’s closet and gathered all of Ian’s clothes and personal belongings so that they might be given to his family. The janitor then opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and saw the hospice welcoming brochure. He placed the brochure on top of the cabinet, knowing it needed to be there before the room was completely cleaned and the next patient arrived. Seeing the nice-looking blue plastic folder in the drawer where it had been wedged beneath the brochure, he placed it on his cart—believing it probably belonged to one of the staff members. He then wheeled his cart down the hall to the staff lunchroom and placed it beside the new coffee machine that had been delivered that morning.
First thing the next morning, the hospice director’s secretary arrived at the office, went into the staff lunchroom, and started brewing the morning coffee. Seeing the blue folder and thinking it must be instruction and warranty papers for the new coffee maker, she stuffed the folder behind the machine. To this day nobody has had to consult the instruction and warranty papers because the machine has been functioning just fine, perking up fresh coffee every morning.