What Happens After We're Gone?

Two weeks ago, a women who had lived in my building for many years died. It wasn’t really a huge shock, since she had been in bad health the whole time I’ve lived here, but it was still sort of a surprise because I had just seen her in the lobby a couple of days before. Although I didn’t know her, I felt sad because she was a real fixture in the building and she seemed like a very nice person and relatively happy for someone who appeared to be in constant pain, something that would probably make me a miserable bitch.

The other day, I heard two of the other long-time residents talking about her. Apparently, there hasn’t been a funeral yet, because no one has claimed her body from the city. I assume it’s because a family member has to claim it, and there’s no one in the area, but this depresses me profoundly. At first, I felt good that I had Lord Kissington, because at least I have someone to claim my body. But then I realized that he could die first and we might not have had any children. Or perhaps we did have a kid, but he/she hates me for trying to force him/her to live out my failed dream of becoming a champion ice dancer. Who would claim my body then? I suppose it won’t really matter, because I’ll be dead, but I’d like to think that there will be someone around to take care of things. It makes me think of Dorothy Parker, whose ashes went unclaimed for 17 years after her death. I just hope that when the time comes, I haven’t pissed off everyone I know.