How to Help a Friend Answer Deep, Troubling Questions

I don’t have a plan for Ric’s remains, or his funeral in general. I do have one for my own that involves Ric. For years I joked that I was going to be cremated in secret, then have my ashes caked into a giant, vaudeville-sized powder puff. Then, as a stipulation of my will, Ric would made to say “Make-up!” and hilarity would ensue.

I’m not going to do that.  I am thinking about requesting that in place of a eulogy, someone (Ric, if available) read, as if it were a poem, this slightly reworded version of the lyrics to the theme from Thunderball:

He’d always run while others walked;

He’d act while other men just talked.

They called him the winner who took all;

And he’d strike like Thunderball

He knew the meaning of success;

His needs were more so he gave less.

He’d look at this world and want it all;

Then he’d strike like Thunderball

Any woman he’d want, he'd get;

He’d break any heart without regret

His days of asking are all gone;

His fight goes on, and on, and on.

But he thought that the fight was worth it all;

So he strikes like Thunderball

Extra points if whoever reads it cries at the last line.

As always, thanks for using my Amazon Affiliate links (US, UK, Canada).