JUST SUPPOSE that you found out that this day would be your last day alive on this earth, that you would die before midnight. Some of us would panic, screaming “NO! NO! NO!” Others would complain, “Why me?” Still others would travel as far away as possible, hoping that geographical distance would alter Death’s mind, and another group might say, “Let me get ready, then, as there are some items I must take care of, and some arrangements to be made.” One nice thing about dying nowadays is you don’t have to pack material supplies, like deodorants, toothpaste, aspirin, bathing suit, hairbrush, underwear, or outerwear—not a bloody thing. All you have to do is sit, and perhaps gather the family and friends for a farewell chat. Of course, before we do that, we ought to ring up or otherwise contact the various people we have slighted or injured in our lives and see if we can’t make amends. Cleaning things up in this way does not mean seeking or expecting forgiveness, for sometimes injured parties will find that impossible to grant. But if you tell them you are about to die, you might elicit a “Bon voyage” at least. Your last day ought to be one of story, song, reminiscences, and loving embraces all round.