please don't.

Let's, for a moment, forget how wildly inappropriate a cross would be at this point for anything commemorating my life. Let's also not put any energy toward my demise. You know... power of intention and all that.

BUT, I think we can agree that the time will inevitably come when my precious life force will cease to bless this planet. All I ask is when that void occurs you not "honor" me on the back windshield of your car.

There are plenty of things I see on a daily basis that befuddle and confound me, but as of late, none perplex me as much as the plethora of the In Loving Memory of...'s gracing rear car windows from here to Kalamazoo*.

If you happen to have one of these, or have any understanding of why someone would even want one of these, would you please give me a call? I would love to actually understand this phenomenon.

I do not really want to use the phrase "cheapens the memory of" in this post, but it's hard not to. What is so special about plastering a loved one's name, date of birth and date of death in adhesive vinyl on the side of your car? I know we all grieve in different ways, this just seems like such a burden to bear... every single time you get in or out of your car. Plus, they always bum me out. Especially when I see a really fresh death date.

When you want to remember me, go to the beach and listen to the gulls. Or check out when a sea turtle nest might be hatching, and go help the little buggers make their way to the sea. Hell... tip back a margarita while listening to Buffett or Marley, preferably someplace warm and sandy. You do have to call it a "Stinarita" when you order it, though.

If you must, go ahead and sticker me up. I can only hope it will be on your hybrid.

And I'll thank you in advance to not ask me how window-cling headstones differ from memorial tattoos. I haven't quite figured that one out yet.



*Editor's note: I have not actually traveled to Kalamazoo lately. And by "lately", I mean ever. That's what we writers call a "literary device"**.

**I think that's what it's called. If you're a real writer, smile smugly to yourself if I'm wrong and get on with your day.