Just like he planned
When I was a boy, my friend asked me, "If you knew you had 24 hours to live, would you..."
And here comes the fill-in-the-blank part. He asked me a specific question, but I suppose it could be anything.
It was the 1970s, so there wasn't any such thing as a bucket list yet.
But. Would you satisfy yourself? Would you forego your morality to experience things you knew would otherwise not be yours?
Once again, only now do I know.
The things we would all do if we knew when we were going to die, more or less.
We would do the things that matter to us, and they might have nothing to do with the hedonistic pleasures we thought we knew about.
So, just like he planned, the children came two by two, leaving flowers at his casket. So many children.
His best friend told everyone that he was his best friend.
His family, siblings and all reminded us how special they were to each other. What else matters?
The widow, blazing with power, held every eye in awe, every tongue but hers was speechless, just like he planned.
