The last supper

No, not a religious post.

From time to time, John and I talk about what we would want for our last meal. I guess it was one of those “between us” conversations.
I would always tell him, my last meal would be an all day thing. I would start off with  pumpkin pancakes with lots of maple syrup followed with home fries and toast and eggs with a Starbucks mocha. Lunch would be fish tacos and everything Mexican from San Diego, CA. followed by another mocha. My mid-day snack would be pizza and pasta with garlic knots from Brooklyn and I would break being a pescetarian by eating a platter full of ribs and bacon. Dinner would be my mother’s dishes. Salmon with rice and natto (warning, don’t google if you don’t know what it is!), miso soup,her bok choy  and pickled cabbage and green tea. Dessert would be all kinds of cream pies-coconut, lemon meringue, chocolate. I would have apple pie with peach ice cream and have two more mochas. Snacks all through out the day would be See’s Candy chocolates.
John always looked at me like I was crazy because I love food and put a lot of thought into it. He would always ask me why I wouldn’t have my own cooking.
His last meal would be chicken but where he would eat it with the skin. Fried chicken, rotisserie chicken-all with skin and roast beef with all the fixings 1970s style.
I wonder, if he knew he was going to die the way he did, how he would be if he did eat what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted. We used to love to have a beer or two on occasion. We stopped after having kids. I wonder if he would have had more beer. I also wonder how he would have lived and what he would have done differently. I wonder if he would have stuck up for himself when he was bullied in high school. I wonder if he would have punched back at the guy who punched him out of the blue in the halls of that school. I wonder if he would have remained as grounded as he was or would spend  more of his money to enjoy his life-I know he would have liked to have travelled with us. I know we wouldn’t have left New York. One time, after hanging up the phone with the hematologist, we looked at each other and I saw regret for the things he didn’t do and couldn’t get to do. He looked away and then down with such sadness. All I could do was hold his hand and hope that it was enough.
What would you eat for your last meal? Is that a weird question to ask? Is it hard to answer?

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