Dear Johns Hopkins,
I appreciate that you took the time to send a letter to my dead husband to notify him that some doctor that he saw once in the hospital is moving to Texas. However, my husband is DEAD… D E A D… Delta Echo Alpha Delta… or if you prefer- David, Edward, Adam, David. He has kicked the bucket, gone to Dave Jones’ Locker, he’s pushing up daises, he has gone to the big firehouse in the sky, he has ceased to be among the living, he has exceeded his expiration date, he is resting in peace, his location is six feet under and his remains are located in Brookview Cemetery, he has bought the farm (just never finished paying for it- darn it), he has become living-challenged, he is DOA, a Priority Four, and he has sprouted wings and is now in Heaven. Do I need to continue???? Do you read me? Do you copy? Comprende?
Hmmm… I wonder how many trees lost their lives to tell other dead people that the doctor had moved?
Honestly, I’m beyond letting this stuff bother me and it wasn’t a bill!!! IT WASN’T A BILL!!!! If you can’t laugh then you cry… I cry too much anyway… need to laugh, too… And IT WASN’T A BILL!!!!!
Really… I’m shocked that IT WASN’T A BILL!!!
Who knows… maybe deceased people still need medical care and GI doctors? Oh yuck… colonoscopies in Heaven? They say the prep is the worst…
Darn it. I was holding out for the notion that your body worked like new and you had no aches and pains. AND that there was most definitely no cancer in Heaven.
Hope the insurance plans are better in Heaven.
Wonder what the co-pays are?
John… if you could… get to work on pushing up some daises… I’m tired of this wintertime… ready for some green!!!
John… love you always… miss you forever…