I'll share one example. The writing prompt on page 14 is to "Tell me what you will miss when you die." Hm. Not a topic I think about often. Believing in eternity is usually an excuse for me to dismiss questions like this with vague notions of "heaven will better than I can even imagine!" And that's where the topic ends. Time to change the subject. Other than hazy images of clouds and harps and rainbows and lollipops, how do I visualize any kind of comparison?
Of course, writing this and sharing it publicly makes me think all kinds of extreme things. If I should meet an untimely demise, this list will carry more weight and people will scour it for clues about me (typical Emily-dramatization, I'm afraid). Oh the pressure to make a comprehensive and accurate list! But I'm writing topics to come back to. These few things that come springing to mind when I picture myself on my deathbed, or from some alternate reality, carry a lot of importance to me. Probably good topics to elaborate on in future writing.
Here's my response.
What will you miss when you die?
The smell of a mowed lawn.
Heat from a campfire.
Soft blankets and clean sheets.
Husband's hugs and kisses.
My dad's laugh.
My mom's voice.
Mooshy and Sheepy.
Smelling salt water in a breeze off the bay.
The way a sunburn makes my freckles glow.
Bon Jovi (my heart pumping as soon as I hear the intro to "Livin' on a Prayer").
Long daylight hours in summer.
Endorphins after working out.
Moments I pause and think, "this is temporary. I'm here right now, but I won't always be. Soon this current moment will exist only as a memory. Whatever I can't stand will soon end; whatever I'm looking forward to will soon be here. Time is incremental and this place and experience are finite."