Seven; I felt a Funeral, in my Brain.

My death is imminent.

Good morning! I hope you’re doing okay.

Whenever I struggle to write I like to sift through all of my old documents that have never seen the light of day, just to see if there’s anything I could use as a jumping off point. I recently found this really bizarre piece that I wrote on January 15th, 2020. I remember writing the bulk of it lying in the dark under the covers in bed when I couldn’t sleep. It reflects, in a way, how I’m feeling this week (uninspired and unmotivated) but with a weird macabre Dickinson twist.

I did some editing (there’s a reason it never saw the light of day initially) but for the most part its a straight, pre-pandemic artifact.

Love you.

xo

-R

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My death is imminent. 

I don’t mean to sound overly dramatic or attention mongering, I just want you to be prepared if I do end up perishing in the next few days or hours as I suspect I will. 

I know that I am close to death because I’ve stopped seeing in colour. Everything has suddenly been washed with a sort of beige tone. Nothing is able to trigger my brain's pleasure centre anymore. The only explanation I can come up with for these symptoms is that I am dying. 

I can no longer muster up ideas, no matter how hard I scrape the crusty edges of my imagination as a last-ditch effort to revive myself. It’s as though I’ve replayed all of my exciting, sexy, adventurous, fun, funny memories over and over so many times in my mind's eye that they’ve lost their power to invigorate and inspire me enough to go out into the world and keep living.

I seem to have blown my final daydream load.

I appear to have rubbed out the last bit of my inspiration to live. 

I also cannot sleep. My body is now rejecting anything that might excite or inspire me back to life- even dreams! This is the cruellest form of death. The long, drawn-out kind that you’re fully conscious of.

I can’t deny that I had a good run, though. Even when everything is finally all said and done I was immensely lucky. I managed to see a few pockets of the world, swim in several seas, and climb a couple of mountains (okay, it was the same mountain, twice). I’ve been loved and had lovers I didn’t love. I’ve had a handful of good meals... although sitting here now I’m wishing I had had more. There’s no use living in regret- not when you’re as close to death as I am. Life has mostly been good to me but I have felt some bad, so as I’m fast approaching the end of my days I’m feeling pretty well rounded for a 29-year-old.

My restlessness (my inability to rest) matched with my general sense of fatigue and beigeness are certainly symptoms of something definitely terminal. There’s no doubt about it.

As I lay here late into the night (11:20 pm) unable to dream or think or do anything useful while being faced with the harsh truth of my own mortality I can’t help but envision my funeral. And let me tell you right now- it’s going to be a hum-dinger of a funeral. Tragic and sad, but really, really tasteful. I suspect whoever eulogizes me will understand that it will be so much more than a chance to openly grieve for me, but also a phenomenal opportunity to really show their versatility as a writer and performer. I want them to take the funeral-goers on a gorgeous, colourful journey with their recount of the impact I made on them and the community. 

When it comes to the planning of my funeral, I don’t want to come across as bossy (even from the afterlife), so please take the following more as a suggestion then a flat out order… but I would really appreciate it if you fulfilled my last dying wish… but no pressure.

First off, I’d like to be cremated. I’m not too fussy about where you toss my dust, just do it wherever is most convenient for you. Please do make sure you know which way the wind is blowing, I’d hate for your last memory of me to be a gross one. It would be cool if you put some coloured sand in the jar with my dust and then tell passer-bys “This was Robin Hebb. She had a blog with a modest following and her ashes were neon pink!”. 

Secondly, I’d like there to be a Karaoke party thrown in the place of a traditional wake and I’d prefer it if you would please use a photo of me from when I was 26 for any sort of memorial press or posthumous creative content made in my honour (that was the year I was my most attractive- ask anyone). There shouldn’t be more than 11 or 12 people in attendance at my Karaoke send-off because I usually kept to myself. If more people do show up let them sing a song in my honour but PLEASE make sure they understand I would have wanted them to fully commit to the performance and not sheepishly giggle their way through a rendition of Kelly Clarkson’s “Since You’ve Been Gone.”  I never half-assed a performance in my short life and neither should they. 

If you’ve been picked to plan my funeral but find yourself too wrought with sadness (understandable, we were so close!) to plan a banger of an event here are a few more notes I’ve jotted down to hopefully make the process easier for you:

1. Feel free to use any song off this curated playlist of my ideal funeral songs for the procession, ceremony and tossing of ashes.

2. Some of my greatest accomplishments that you should definitely mention are:

   • My blog.

   • My 4.0 university GPA.

   • I climbed Table Mountain (TWICE).

   • I was never married.

   • I was awarded the “Most Improved In Math” award in grade 8.

   • I played Emily Dickinson in a self-produced one-woman show.

   • I never had braces despite having perfect teeth.

3. Please strongly enforce an over the top dress code. I mean really over the top. Most of the people who will ben attendance at my funeral usually dress very casually. I want my funeral to be a day they remember forever as the day they tried big hats, bows, sequined scarfs, and giant jewel-toned trousers for the first time. I want each guest to look like they are extras in a Harry Styles music video. I can’t emphasize enough how important this part is to me.

4. Serve real food. This is a celebration of LIFE. People don’t want your shit little crackers. Give them a hearty helping of Korean barbeque.

I am finding myself wondering who will end up paying for this funeral since I’ve never made any formal arrangements. I always assumed I had plenty of time left on this earth (how ignorant!).

If you’re reading this after I’ve died and perished: I’m sorry for your loss. You can use whatever is left in my savings account for my leftover expenses (I wish it was more, but I didn’t much care for financial planning while I was alive and to be completely honest, now that I’m dead I’m glad I didn’t waste my time on it). 

I am not happy about dying. I’m not afraid of it either. I would prefer to live, but my symptoms are telling me that I don’t have a choice. Everything is beige and tiring to me now. I’ve lost my appetite for food and adventure.

I don’t know much about medicine but I know about poetry, and all of these are signs of an imminent, long and painful run-in with death.

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I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,

And Mourners to and fro

Kept treading – treading – till it seemed

That Sense was breaking through –

And when they all were seated,

A Service, like a Drum –

Kept beating – beating – till I thought

My Mind was going numb –

And then I heard them lift a Box

And creak across my Soul

With those same Boots of Lead, again,

Then Space – began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell,

And Being, but an Ear,

And I, and Silence, some strange Race

Wrecked, solitary, here –

And then a Plank in Reason, broke,

And I dropped down, and down –

And hit a World, at every plunge,

And Finished knowing – then -

-Emily Dickinson.