My Boy,
When you read this letter, I will be dead.
I’m sorry, but you need to let me go. If you don’t, I might start haunting people, and with my weird sense of humour and temper combined with superpowers and invisibility… Who knows what I’m capable of. Don’t be too sad. Think of me crying with laughter, sneezing uncontrollably, throwing pistachios at people for no other reason than to amuse myself, baking, singing along to loud music, calling out because there’s a flower/bird/cat blooming/flying/walking by.
I enjoyed my life, and I loved it with a passion when you came along. I’m so proud of who you’ve become. I’m so proud to call you my son. Keep going, keep laughing, keep growing. Remember to breathe, and to choose your battles.
Now, here’s a list of things for you to do. Call it my last wishes if you must.
1.) Organise a party to celebrate life. Play loud music: Rock, pop, reggae, boogie for all I care, but it must be happy music, and of course, play my favourite. Serve champagne, pizza, and chocolate. There’s no need for anything else (see note). Sing, laugh, and dance. Let the music free you.
Note: Funky bite-size posh food is a waste of appetite and money (Yes, that includes
sushi, we’ll have to agree to disagree on this ad aeternam—sorry, that was my last
bad joke, I promise).
Note: If any of our annoying neighbours complain, do the finger to them in my name,
let them know it’s my last goodbye.
2.) Climb a hill before dawn, a warm cup of cappuccino (see note) in your hand. Feel your body strain, and your lungs’s effort as you reach the top. Sit on the grass or a rock, facing East. Breathe in and out through the nose. Relax. Close your eyes for a moment and listen to the birds as they wake and welcome the new day to come. Open your eyes, and enjoy the sunrise, the magical hour.
Note: I hope you appreciate the fact that I won’t impose an espresso on you, although
anything sweet and creamy is a dessert, not a coffee.
3.) Take a weekend off. Pack a light bag, but include clothes for any kind of weather and an umbrella (see note). Go to the train/coach station and buy a ticket for somewhere you haven’t been before (see note). Go alone. Focus on the discovery; try new food, walk around, sit at a café and admire life unfolding before your eyes, stroll through a park and open your ears to the whispers of the trees. Nature is wisdom.
Note: Pick a nice place; there’s no need to rush into it and get the next train/coach out of town, quite the opposite. It’s about slowing down and enjoying the moment. Carpe Diem.
Note: Since you’re unlikely to pack an umbrella, at least take a raincoat.
Last, but not least. This one must remain unnumbered, for I despise even digits, and ‘three’ represents the triskelion of elements, the full circle of existence.
Love life as I love you.