Hey, babe. Wow. I can’t believe I’m gone. Super sad I died in a way that absolutely decimated my body but left my symmetrical face and giganto cleavage intact. It’ll be tough, but you have to find a silver lining. Here, I’ll start: you can use me, your dead wife, as a substitute for developing any redeemable qualities. Whoa, you’re starting to seem deeper already.

Did you feel my presence at the funeral? I was there. That eulogy was breathtaking: “I loved my dead wife sooooo much.” I saw you wipe a tear from my mother’s cheek. I heard you cry into my cousin Hot Kelly’s shoulder for the rest of the service — very emotionally vulnerable of you. I also see my tombstone came in and, I have to say, I love the inscription you chose: HERE LIES MY DEAD WIFE. PASSED AWAY WHILE SHE WAS YOUNG AND HOT. And you say I was the one who had a way with words.

Grief is hard, and you’ll be angry at first. But eventually… you’ll continue to be very angry while learning to justify it better. So, punch a wall. Get drunk at work at 1 pm. Do whatever you want and say, “… my wife just died.” It’s like apologizing without having to take any responsibility for your actions.

In those hard moments, try to think of the good times, too. Like, remember when I danced in a polka-dotted sundress randomly at that bar? Or when I danced in a different dress at a different bar? I was so carefree! So fun! So void of personality except “sundresses” and “random dancing.” We had many happy memories you can reminisce about after you do a big scream at your secretary or something else violent and toxically macho. It’ll show that you do have a soft side after all. It’s me, and my mushy, rotting corpse.

There are a lot of us dead movie wives here in the afterlife. We’ve got a ton in common, too: brown hair; small nose; biting lip to be shy; no first name; laughing “babe, stop” in old home videos; masters of the slow-motion look over the shoulder; twirling to “Drops of Jupiter”; washing dishes in the sunlight; husbands with names like “Steven Jack.” I fit right in.

Though my life, like my right leg, was cut short, I wouldn’t change a thing. I mean, I married you, didn’t I? As I look down on you from this hazily lit flashback of me tumbling in white linens, I want you to know that, when you’re ready, you’re free to take off your wedding band and — oh, it’s already off? You basically flung it into my closing casket while staring at Hot Kelly? Cool, cool.

Rest assured that I’m fine with you dating Hot Kelly. I’m a chill dead wife, and I get it! She’s basically a younger, hotter, even more lifeless version of me, which is crazy because I’m literally deceased. Sometime soon — sooner than my family will think is appropriate — you will start anew with Hot Kelly. You’ll twirl with her to instrumental versions of “Hey Soul Sister.” You will study her smile and glance at her hooters while tumbling in a cloud-like duvet. Eventually, you will hear, “Hey, babe?” and only think of her. Then, one day, you’ll get down on one knee and ask her to be your dead movie wife.

Uh-oh, I’m starting to disappear back into this montage of me laugh-smiling straight into the camera. Before I go, I want to say something I should have said while I was still next to you, alive, holding your hands…

Who the fuck is taking care of our kids?