I heard a Warren Zevon song today.

It hit me the way Warren Zevon’s songs always do. It made me smile. It made me sad. It made me wistful. It made me think.

I thought about when Warren was diagnosed with cancer and decided not to undergo treatment. Knowing his days here were coming to an end, he wrote and recorded a poignant final album. He appeared on Late Night with David Letterman. They spoke as old friends would. Or maybe as they would if they knew they had a national audience.

I thought about what I might do in that situation. And I looked around and I thought, “I’d clean up this office.” Seriously. I wouldn’t want to leave a mess like this for my wife Holly or anyone else to have to deal with—all these papers and files and machines and books and bills.

Of course, thankfully I’m not in Warren’s situation. But I should still probably clean up my office.

Or maybe I’m exactly in Warren’s situation, it’s just that nobody has told me how many months it will be.

Then I thought of some other messes that I wouldn’t want to leave behind.

Some of them may be pretty hard to clean up. It may have to start with a word or two.

Maybe “I’m sorry.”

Maybe “Thank you.”

Or “Please forgive me.”

Or even harder to say, “I forgive you.”

“Here are those hedge clippers I borrowed last year.”

And of course, “I love you.” Or it might maybe even have to be, “I love you anyway.”

With some of them, I probably can’t do anything except say, “I’m sorry about the mess.”

Warren once sang, “My ride is here.”

My ride is coming, but I don’t know when.

So I gotta go. I have some messes to clean up.