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Get your chickens in a queue

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Can we speak candidly for a sec? I promise I won’t take too much of your time about such a morbid topic.

But it’s also an important, morbid topic.

Get your chickens in a queue.

I don’t need you to get your ducks in a row, which means “get your life together.” I’m talking about your death.

Get your death together.

Here’s the thing about death. You’re dead. You don’t have to do anything anymore. You’re not here to tell us what to do now or more importantly what you want.

We are left here.

All of us.

Your family, your friends, your co-workers. Everyone who you have ever talked to about what you want when you die.
Yep, we are all still here.

And you know what the worst part about it is?

Not just that we love you and feel completely gutted.

Nope.
It’s not that we are mourning and crying, nope, no time for that.

It’s that we are left behind with the impossible task of now getting your chickens in a queue. Because you let them all wander about the barnyard, thinking you would never need to catch them.

Cause here’s the thing about chickens, they don’t listen. Not even to the rooster, most days, they do whatever they feel like.

They don’t think for one second about their future consequences.
And it’s frustrating for those of us here, wishing they would do the right thing.

The chickens are your death plans.

Yep.

Whatever extravagant or completely ordinary thing you want us living folks to do, tell us! Get them in line!

Today!

Because we are the ones left here.

Carrying out your final wishes and if you’ve shared 14 different ideas with 14 different people we are going to have a problem.

Nobody is going to know what to do.

None of us will agree.

We all think we knew you best. We all loved you the most. We all have the right answer.

Yep, all 14 of us.

And this will create rifts and arguments and all the while we should be remembering your sweet soul and all you meant to us but we are disagreeing on which color flowers are your favorite and what song you wanted.

It’s the truth.

I, we, need you to get your chickens in a queue.

Make one plan, please. Think of your final farewell and exactly how you want things to be. Then share that one plan with your spouse, your neighbor, your best friend, all your co-workers, the lady on the subway.

Do you want your maiden name on your tombstone?
Do you hate roses? Really? Your mom's pearls, where are they?

All of these things matter when you leave us. We don’t know what to do and everyone you have ever talked to is telling us something different.

Please get your chickens in a queue.

Make hard decisions. Tell them to everyone you love. No, it’s not a great, fun conversation. But trust me, it’s a very, very, important one to those you are leaving.

We love you.

We want to do right by you.

We want to carry out your final wishes.

Get your chickens in a queue. Do it for everyone you love before you leave us. The rooster and I thank you.

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