By Sherry Pasquarello/WWH
For about the last five or six years I have been finding more and more reminders of my mortality in the mailbox. The AARP ads were mild in comparison. They just reminded me that I wasn’t as young as I liked to think that I was. The ones that soon followed were for assisted living and nursing care insurance or facilities. Now I am getting mailings for burial plots and pre-paid funeral plans. Hey, I just buried my parents a few years ago; give me a break.
I suppose though that I am in their demographics so I became serious about my future demise. I’m not really a morbid type but coming from an, at one time huge extended family that has winnowed down to a handful, I am a realist.
I’ve also had a fascination with death and funeral practices for years, so I’m not as squeamish as others might be. I’ve changed my imaginings of my own sendoff from wanting a New Orleans style send off with a glass sided hearse drawn by plumed black horses ala “IMITATION OF LIFE” (saw the film in grade school with all of the schools nuns weeping into hankies magically pulled from the recesses of huge sleeves) to a Viking funeral ship piled high with all the goodies needed in the afterlife. I’ve settled on cremation with NO funeral (and no goodies except an eyeliner pencil, black/brown shade) I’ve told my family to take some of the money saved and go out and have a damn good time.
This method here would be my second choice:
I think its hippie cool. Now, this was my second choice only because I don’t want to take the chance that my tree would die. I have never owned a green thumb in life and I doubt that I’ll grow one after death. So I’m opting to be “blow’n in the wind” like Dylan sang.
I just thought some of us more “mature” flower children might like the idea of “going back to the garden”.
p.s. I am an organ donor. We should think about that as well.