Think of all the research, prayer and hard drugs people go through to crack the meaning of life. Just apprentice at a funeral home, ho. Being a shepherd of death gives you the best Christmas Carol goggles.

You see tenderness. And you see teeth.

The good death: 

A star of a man rescues his ex wife from an abusive relationship. Shortly after moving her to Wisconsin, she is diagnosed with cancer. He continues to care for her until her last breath and, with the help of her best friend, bathes and dresses her before I take her to the funeral home. Clean and loved.

The bad death:

A family so fractured that no one takes responsibility for their loved one’s final disposition. Meaning we lack the appropriate signature to proceed with cremation––because of fear, bitterness, resentment? We’ll never know. The consequence is a dead man slowly decomposing in a cooler for 6 months.

Want to know the secret sauce of being alive?

Stop fighting currents that will swallow you whole.

Be unafraid to live your life. Because it’s ending.

Forgive someone. Get over the bullshit need to be right. Accept that you may not get what you need from some people. Say this aloud until your brain believes it: Good things don’t always come to those who wait. Fuck waiting! Be more like a kid who just found an excellent stick. Be more like a dog who loses his mind over seeing another soul. Love ferociously like when you were young and when you’ll be old.

And consider getting this as a tramp stamp: The only way to fail at life is to abstain.