Caleb Andrade’s last day would be simple. The morning would start with breakfast alongside his parents. He wouldn’t tell anyone it was his final day. Instead, he’d quietly prepare, organizing his room “so it’s how it’s supposed to be,” he said. He would arrange
collections to ensure his creative work, like his photography and music, was shared. “I’d try to get all my photography out there so it’s shown,” he said. Music would play a big role. Andrade would curate a playlist — not for himself, but for his funeral. I don’t want people to speak for me,” he said. “I’d rather have a long playlist, like a listening party, that shows the layers of who I was.” He’d make sure the songs, his will and his burial plans at his cemetery of choice were easy for others to access. Then, he’d spend the rest of his last day with friends in Chicago, camera in hand while capturing photos, eating at a rooftop steakhouse and covering the bill. Afterward, he’d edit those final photos and compile them into a collection “so it’s captured my last day,” he said. Before the night ended, he’d record unfinished songs, even simple acoustic versions or rough drafts. Finally, he’d drive to
North Avenue Beach, his favorite spot overlooking the Chicago skyline. “I don’t know if I’d want anyone with me,” he said. “I wouldn’t
want to put that trauma on someone. I’d just sit there, stare at the skyline and listen to music.” His final wish is that his cameras, instruments and collections be donated “so people who can’t afford that stuff can have an outlet for their own creativity.”