The Last Word
'What's the last word you'll say when you die?' the 11-year-old asks from the back seat of the Skoda. 'Mine will be 'me'! Or maybe 'shopping'.'
'Mine will be 'f***!' shrieks the 9-year-old, gleefully envisaging a scenario where there can be no comeuppance.
'Dad's will be 'Jesus',' says the 11-year-old with withering scorn. 'What'll be yours, Mum?'
Over the steering wheel I ponder. I've given much thought to my preferred Apocalypse meal (boiled eggs), companion (the Vicar) and venue (Waterperry Gardens), but none at all to my parting shot. I'd like to think it would be 'sorry' for the distressing number of things I meant to do but didn't. And the distressing number of things I did that I didn't mean to. More likely it would be my catch-all for every unexpected circumstance: 'blimey!'
The children have tired of waiting for my answer. 'I bet yours will be 'minute',' prompts the 9-year-old grinning at his sister. 'How come?' I reply. 'Because when God decides your time's up, you'll say what you're always saying...' and there comes a sing-song chorus from behind me:
'Will you just wait a minute!'
What will be your last word?
'Mine will be 'f***!' shrieks the 9-year-old, gleefully envisaging a scenario where there can be no comeuppance.
'Dad's will be 'Jesus',' says the 11-year-old with withering scorn. 'What'll be yours, Mum?'
Over the steering wheel I ponder. I've given much thought to my preferred Apocalypse meal (boiled eggs), companion (the Vicar) and venue (Waterperry Gardens), but none at all to my parting shot. I'd like to think it would be 'sorry' for the distressing number of things I meant to do but didn't. And the distressing number of things I did that I didn't mean to. More likely it would be my catch-all for every unexpected circumstance: 'blimey!'
The children have tired of waiting for my answer. 'I bet yours will be 'minute',' prompts the 9-year-old grinning at his sister. 'How come?' I reply. 'Because when God decides your time's up, you'll say what you're always saying...' and there comes a sing-song chorus from behind me:
'Will you just wait a minute!'
What will be your last word?
I would like my last word to be profound, but then, I have never been profound. I am also known for my propensity to never use one word when a whole sentence will do!
ReplyDeleteIf my children are there and we are able to communicate, then I would tell them that I love them and that I am so very proud of them. My husband would be told to marry again (and then under my breath 'at his peril, cos I will come back and haunt you both' a bit like Ernie with his ghostly gold tops a'rattling in his crate!)
I too like to think I'd wish the Vicar a consoling blonde to help him over his bereavement, but I suspect it would ruin the afterlife for me if he obliged.
DeleteI only get ONE word?! I hope and pray I would get the opportunity to tell them to "Trust Jesus"
ReplyDeletebut my family frequently tell me that if I have a tombstone [nb I want to be cremated, thankyou] they will engrave upon it the oft-repeated phrase "I haven't finished my tea yet!"
No, you get as many as you like, I think. They just wanted to know the last of them and both yours sound very suitable.
DeleteBoiled eggs? Surely you could manage something a little more exotic to depart to!
ReplyDeleteI'd like to think I'll be compos mentis enough to manage copying Spike Milligan's wry epitaph: "I told you I was ill".
Eggs are my favourite so there's really no choice.
DeleteBrilliant. I think mine will be 'wait a minute' too. That's all I ever seem to say these days, and 'what's the magic word?' X
ReplyDeleteWe have so much in common!
DeleteI think mine might be 'will you lot stop arguing'
ReplyDeleteWords I have just now been uttering!
DeleteSays it all. But it depends on who's bending over you as you utter your last!
ReplyDeleteVery similar to yours, "hang on a minute will you!"
ReplyDelete