Request of a Dying Man

I was talking to my mom last night, and during our chat, we talked about my grandfather, the subject of today’s writing. Contrary to the title and the beginning of the story, this isn’t a bad memory.

I remember seeing my grandfather during his final weeks. His body was trashed… nothing left but skin and bones, but his brain still worked. His voice was shaky, yet he managed a faint smile and told me in a raspy, whisper-quiet voice that he was glad to see me. I was one of the later people to arrive, so he started our conversation based on what he’d already discussed with other family members, and he came right to the point.

“I don’t want to die, but if it’s time I’m not scared of it either. My body hurts and I just want it to stop. If that means I die, well, I’m ready.”

“Well grandpa,” I replied, “I don’t want you to die either, but if it’s time, I know you’re ready and I can accept that. If you don’t make it, I want you to know I’ll miss you. Is there anything you want me to do for you?”

“Do you remember that school paper you wrote about me a few years back?”

“Yes.”

“I’d like you to read it at my funeral.”

“Okay.” That was something I hadn’t expected. He and I had an awesome relationship, but I was stunned and honored that he’d just asked me to speak at his funeral. “What else would you like me to do?” I phrased my question intentionally, so he knew that I was prepared to do whatever he asked, as long as it was in my power.

“I’d like you to find a song and have it played at the memorial service, but I can’t remember the name of the song or who does it.”

“Can you give me a line from the song?”

“I’ll never tell another white lie.”

“Okay grandpa. I’ll find the song for you. If you can remember any more of it before I leave, let me know.”

We talked for a little bit longer, but he soon became too tired to concentrate. I went out and visited the rest of the family for a while as he slept. In a couple of hours, he woke up again and called me back to his room.

“The name of the group that sings that song is something Smith and the Redheads.”

“Great. That’ll make my search a lot easier.”

Later that night I went home and started searching for the song. I did a Google search, using the information he provided – “I’ll never tell another white lie,” and “Smith and the Redheads.” I was surprised as hell with the results. The group was actually named “Something Smith and the Redheads.” When he said “something,” I figured he couldn’t remember the first name. And then I read the lyrics. I laughed my ass off. My grandfather’s favorite song – the one he wanted played at his funeral – was a song about getting stuck with an ugly chick!

When it’s my turn to go, I want this played at my funeral.