Dead roses, daisies, lilies. Flowers that were already dead before they became a decoration. Their lives cut short so they can commemorate the end of another’s life. Wreaths of flowers with banners propped up on easels depicting that someone was “beloved”, that they will “never be forgotten” and to “rest in peace”.

That’s what’s left after the coffin is lowered into the ground. Your name chiseled in a slab of granite adorned with birds or flowers, maybe a cross or praying hands. The years of your life etched in stone.

Those left behind will cry and mourn for a little while, maybe relive some memories at Thanksgiving and Christmas. A “happy heavenly birthday“ post on social media so nobody looks like the asshole that forgot about their beloved.

So, what _did_ become of your life? Did you set out to do what you had planned? Did you live every day like it was your last? Did you live, love _and_ laugh? Did you always dance like no one was watching? No. You didn’t. You got up every day, went to work, had sex, ate dinner, went to sleep and did it all over again the next day and the day after that and the day after that. Wash, rinse, repeat. Maybe throw in a movie or a concert here and there. Dinner or coffee with a friend. Maybe you got to dip your toes in the ocean once or twice. That was your life. But, hey, you were loved by so many people. The banners on the wreaths said so and there’s social media posts to prove that someone is still thinking of you.

So now what? Is your soul immortal? Do you return to this earth? Does your soul ascend into heaven? Are you on your way to eternal damnation?

Maybe you become like the flowers. You are here for a moment in time to breathe this air and feel the sunshine, soak up the rain drops, see the moonlight, hear the thunder. Bloom and grow, bring pleasure to someone’s day, brighten up a room. Maybe you become a decoration on a wreath adorned with a banner along with the lilies, the daisies and the other dead roses.