In the end when I die, I hope I'm bored with life. I hope all my friends are gone and I hope my wife is gone too; only my children are left thriving away in their lives with no concern that I am alone and close to the end.
I hope I've run the miles, lifted the iron, seen the oceans and forests, ate the food, and witnessed every permutation of every story there ever was.
I hope I’ve experienced all the emotions the mind and brain can produce with no bias toward the good or the bad I may have felt.
I hope I don't relate to the new generation much anymore; they don't honor the old ways, nor do I have much in common with them.
I hope I’ve prepared well for the end. Saying what needed to be said to the people who needed to hear it. I hope no one laments my exit and instead uses my memory as fuel and not fog.
I hope my ledger of life is full and my pages ripped with strike-through’s and misspellings here and there. Reformulations of my life written through experiences of pain and joy as the very best parts I am most proud of – and frankly what I might miss most.
I hope it's clear that suffering helped me, and, in a way, I want to miss taking losses as I lived on the outer edges of my skill because that is where growth is and it’s what made me better…it’s what made me feel alive.
I hope I see alignment in most things. I hope the stars above never lose their intrigue with me and call me by name to come home.
I hope time is not a diminishing resource I chase any longer. I want to be tired of it and done with it; grateful I had as much as I did, but happy it’s close to running out.
I hope I let my body die without much concern for who I am or where I’m going. I hope there is little struggle here and that I thank God one last time before the “me” as I know it fades into nothing and I’m reborn elsewhere in some other way.