Last week I made my final wishes known for when I die.
It's something everyone should do when it's time and, well dammit!, it's time to make my plans.
Sarah and I talk it through.
It's agony.
We tell the kids.
It's agony.
Yesterday, following this theme, and obviously hearing everything Sarah and I say, though we don't hide anything, Che surprises me explaining her final wishes.
"When I die will you not put me in the ground? I want you to put me in my bed and give me 'Baby.' Don’t tell anybody. But if my friends call, you can tell them that’s where I wanted to be, in my bed."
We're getting ready for our dog Lainey to take us on a walk as Che says this.
I stop dead in my tracks.
Che picks up Lainey's leash and looks at me questionably.
I rush to our bedroom where Sarah's standing typing out our daughter's wishes on her phone to get them right.
Nothing else is said.
Today, as Lainey drags me on our walk, my heart's heavy with what Che feels that we'll never completely fathom.
Once home, I collapse on the couch while Sarah, beautiful and radiant, fresh from her shower, sits in her sheer bath robe across from me.
"You okay?" she asks.
"Yeah," I fumble for words, "but you know what bothers me?"
"What?"
Sarah already moves Heaven and Hell on a daily basis preventing things from bothering me leans forward, almost ready to pounce.
"Well," I begin, looking straight into her in Ocean aqua eyes, "I can't believe Che and I already have our final wishes planned, written and announced and you haven't done squat on
