Or at least, when I die I hope it’s something they see a few months or years in advance. The doctors should give me, say, six months to live.
For that six months, I will walk around with ten-foot-high letters of fire behind my eyeballs that say,
“I could spend this five minutes talking to you. Or I could spend five precious, irreplaceable minutes on the porch swing, sitting next to my wife and daughters. Now – are you sure this is important?”