A few people in my life know I have a slight obsession with death. It would be easy to assume it’s related to my mom, but it’s not; I’ve been that way since I was young.

Brad typically humors me.

So, tonight, as we drove home with food for the kids, I asked him, if I died tomorrow, what he’d do with me. It’s a question we’ve discussed before, but occasionally I like to check his response.

He gave me a couple of remarks about burying me in the backyard or the basement, upon which I gave up and said, “Fine what do you want me to do with you? Because I don’t think you want to be cremated.”

Brad: “See, here’s my problem with being cremated. People only care about keeping you around for one generation, maybe two. I guess if you decide to have your ashes spread somewhere, that’s one thing. But otherwise you just get spilled and eventually thrown in the trash.”

So glad this is the man charged with handling things in my absence.

Angel of love and light right there, folks…

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