When it’s time I hope I’m like I was at 19 – deeply curious, a lover, ready for adventure. I hope I’m aware enough to experience the transition, that I know it’s happening, that I can feel the heat leave my body. What will the light look like? Will anyone hold my hand? Who will be close? When I’m gone dress me in purple silk, bury me in the Serbian cemetery in Libertyville, IL (or East LA) and then throw a party. Come visit me, lay a tablecloth over my grave, pour some wine and break bread. Spring flowers too from a garden, if you remember.