The Clothing of My Death

I'm not sure if the clothing I'll die in has been manufactured yet. Perhaps a bolt of cloth lies somewhere in some warehouse in New Jersey that will be the cloth of my clothing when I die. Or perhaps none of the cloth exists yet. Perhaps I'll get a shudder that will serve as a warning of some sort on the day the clothing I'll die in is being harvested or chemically mixed to create synthetic cloth. It could be years from the time of manufacturing of the clothing until the day I buy it. How many years would I do mundane things in the clothing of my death? Doing city stuff, like walking to the subway, sitting on a bench, eating in countless restaurants, riding in taxis, shopping in grocery stores, and strolling in parks. Perhaps the clothing I'll die in has already been purchased, perhaps a favorite shirt of mine will be on my body when I am taken to a morgue, the shirt will be half cut away, or there will be no signs of anything harmful to the shirt done at all, but I will be too oddly pale to be napping, too blue around the lips and eyes to suddenly wake up and say: "This is not the clothing of my death."