My wife knows I don’t want a funeral when I die, but should she survive me, and I hope to God she does, it will be up to her. Funerals aren’t for the dead; they’re for the living.

Instead of a bunch of words, I’d rather people just hear and see … me. Not my voice, because I only share that with a few. But the music I lived on, the art I made, the love I tried to leave.

I have a few favorite songs: “A Horse with No Name” by America, “As” by Stevie Wonder, “My Favorite Things” by John Coltrane, “Nessun Dorma” by Luciano Pavarotti, and “My Sweet Lord,” by George Harrison. I know he stole the melody from “He’s So Fine,” and had to pay a bunch of money to make up for it, but in terms of freeing that song from its inane lyrics, I’m glad he did.

This is the version I hope they play. “My Sweet Lord” live, at the Concert for George, 2002. Billy Preston. Ringo Starr. Paul McCartney. Eric Clapton. Jeff Lynne. Dhani Harrison. And whatever the hell musical wizard engineer mastered the sound for all of these musicians.

If I’m gone, and the song is playing, you best be singing. You didn’t sing while I was here, dammit, you can damned well sing when I’m gone.