If I succumb to Covid-19 today

I have faith that I will live a long life. I know there are matters God wants me to take care of in this life in my generation. Which is why I have faith that I will outlive Covid-19. As Martin Luther King Jr. said: "Like anybody, I would like to have a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will." But in case, just in case, God calls me home via Covid-19, then ...

Accord me a decent burial

I know my soul has departed its human "tent". I know my remains do not have any use. It's work is done. I'll receive a new body when I reach my eternal home. But still, don't treat my body like a bag of trash, or you'll pile more anguish on top of the grief my family is dealing with.

Think about my family. Think about what that will do to them. The least you can do is to accord me a decent burial. Even the most wretched criminals, after they are executed, are buried with all the respects of human beings. Me? I don't want a "mass" burial. Just my family and close friends will do.

Treat my wife and daughter with dignity

Give them space and privacy to mourn however they want and for as long as they desire. If they decide to wear sackcloth and sit on ashes, so be it. If they decide to dress to kill, and paint the town red, that's their choice. To each their own. Please don't cast aspersions or judge.

And please don't post pictures of my wife and daughter on social media, when they're in the throes of grief. This is a moment of pain; pain like no other. Respect it. Don't use it to get likes.

Don't drag my name through the mud

I know that, if it bleeds it leads. I'm not perfect. I may or may not have skeletons in the closet, which would make for great fodder. I'm dead. I can't defend myself. If you have any matter or gripe, speak now that I'm alive, or forever hold your peace. I'm sorry for any wrongs I committed.

Don't shed crocodile tears

If you knew that I was sick, but never never called or sent a text message, then the emotions you're exhibiting are for yourself and the public. If you weren't there, you weren't there. I forgive you. The crocodile tears won't wash.

It's too late for the bouquets. I could've smelled and appreciated the flowers when I was alive. But now they'll just rot on top of a mound of earth, which is covering a rotting corpse.

Cut me some slack

I'm only human. I had my foibles. Where I'm at, I know I should've built a better house. I know I should've left my family in a better state.  Shoulda. Woulda. Coulda. We all have them. Some of us carry them to the grave. Some of us have regrets so heavy, till the pallbearers have muscle cramps while carrying our caskets.

We all could've done better. From paupers to presidents, we all have regrets. One day, you'll be in my shoes.

In an online article, Steve Jobs's biographer, Walter Isaacson notes that, at the tail end of his life, Jobs regretted about how he raised his children. “I wanted my kids to know me. I wasn’t always there for them, and I wanted them to know why and to understand what I did.”

Don't make empty promises

Before you promise my wife and daughter anything, think twice. If you know that you won't keep your promise, hold your horses.

Heaven takes a keen interest on pledges and promises that are made to widows and orphans. It's a serious matter because, if I'm deceased, God becomes the Husband and Father. And any promise that's made is made to Him.

Don't treat my wife as a sex object

There will always be men who want to take the place, in bed, of a dead man. To some, it's a fetish. To some, it's what tradition dictates. To others, it's just a game and, every woman, especially the vulnerable, is game.

I never treated my wife as a sex object. Please don't. My wife can move on. I want her to be happy. I want her to love again. But don't use her vulnerability and situation to further break her heart.

If and when my wife decides to love again, let her be. It's her life, and it has to go on.
In this matter, the bottom line is; do unto mine what you'd like to be done unto yours.