In general, people remember the good things once you die. They remember that you liked donuts and would go every Friday to get s donut at the local bakery. That you loved cars growing up and could name any make and model you saw.

What they don’t remember are the bad things. The things they don’t want to or maybe shouldn’t remember. The fact that you had a drug addiction or maybe that you punched a guy once (but he deserved it). Maybe they don’t remember that you always slept in because your nights were filled with gambling.

When I died, my shadow decided they would take over. Everything that was good and bright and happy in my life disappeared. No memory of my track meets in high school, the family movie nights, or amazing cooking skills (that I got from my mom).

The only thing people remembered was that I wasn’t who everyone thought I was.