An article in The New York Times posed the question, “As death approaches, what do you say to loved ones and friends?”  It quoted Shelly Kagan, a philosopher at Yale, as saying, “One of the things you can accomplish in these conversations is telling people broadly what they have done for you.”

But is anyone asking the question, “As death approaches, what do you say to hated ones and enemies?”  Doesn’t this seem the perfect time to get off your chest things that have been bugging you for years?  To let these people know, in the words of Shelly Kagan, “…what they have done for you.”

Let’s start with the guy who cut in on you in college when you were dancing with the girl of your dreams – probably named Sandy – and screwed up your relationship with her forever.  Isn’t it finally time to let him have it.  “Steve, you douche, do you realize how you messed up my life?  I loved Sandy, still do, and I had to settle for Cindy.  A real shit marriage, and all because of you.  And did you marry Sandy?  Of course not.  You spent your life with Lance.”

And how about your wife’s mother, who was instrumental in turning Cindy into the shrew she became shortly after you made the mistake of marrying her.  No doubt you’d have more than a few of your choicest words for her.  “Bitch!  Mother-in-law from hell!  You ruined what could have been a mediocre marriage.  You turned my average-in-every-way, but sweet, wife into the Bride of Frankenstein.  You even got her to streak her hair to complete the picture.  The only reason you’re still alive at ninety-five is that even Satan doesn’t want you.”

Then there’s your former boss, the advertising “genius” who fired you, despite your numerous awards and stature in the business, because he said that you were too old and no longer had your finger on the pulse of today’s youth…that you could no longer write the words that get through to this group.  Well, here’s your chance for some words that will hopefully get through to him:  “Take that finger you have on today’s youth and stick it up your ass, you hack.”

Your urologist deserves to have his ass reamed (pun intended), as well.  After all, he played a key role in getting you into this mess.  If you could have gotten that arrogant, dismissive asshole (again, pun intended) on the phone, after a zillion tries, perhaps you would have stopped taking that goddamn drug before it turned your small, localized prostate cancer into P-R-O-S-T-A-T-E  C-A-N-C-E-R.  Ironically, even now you can’t get him on the phone to tell him, “If there’s an afterlife, watch out!  I’m going to come back as your urologist and give you a prostate exam that’ll make you feel like you’re in San Quentin, with the Aryan Brotherhood and the Black Guerrilla Family taking turns with you.”

Oh, yes, that hideous German Spitz next door, who hated the sight of you (and most everyone else, barely tolerating his owner) deserves a few well-chosen barks.  Regrettably, you don’t speak dog, let alone German dog.  Perhaps your cousin’s Rottweiler could chew him out.  Literally.

Then there’s that arrogant, condescending, French (what else?) maître d’, who, despite your generous tips, always failed to recognize you and never failed to try to seat you and your wife at the table nearest the Men’s Room.  “Marcel, manger la merde et mourir!”

And let’s not forget the editorial staff of the literary quarterly who have (or should it be “has”?) been turning down your work for years with their phony, patronizing rejection:  We have given your story close reading and careful consideration. We regret, however, that it does not meet our needs at this time.  We hope that you will keep us in mind in the future.  “Well, guys, I have kept you in mind, and I’d like you to give this close reading and careful consideration:  GO FORNICATE THYSELF!  (or should it be “thyselves”?).”

Just think how good you’ll feel to finally get all that bile out of your system.  Who knows, it could even lead to a miraculous recovery.  Which, unfortunately, could also mean some rather strained future relationships.