You know how you're sitting and staring at a television show that you're not really paying attention to at all and your eyes start to go all spacy and your brain has completely tuned out the dialogue and has started to interject its own random thoughts into what was until just now a perfectly willing receptacle for the two-dimensional tripe being offered on the screen? You know how that can happen? Of course, it happens to everyone.
So I was thinking recently, during one of these times, that I want to do something special for my funeral. I've voiced my intentions to all and sundry that could possibly end up having a hand in my funeral that I have no intention ever of being interred in the ground. I just don't feel the need or desire to leave a memorial to my corpse behind. From my perspective it's just a useless piece of flesh that, hopefully, has had 100% of the life wrung out of it by the time whatever made it 'me' decides it's time to up and leave. Nope; funerals, headstones and graveyards are for the living. Which is great. They (ahem, we) need to say goodbye, and that quite often is a great way to attain closure.
Not so for me and mine. I intend to be cremated. I've signed my organ donor card, so if anybody can make any use out of any of my innards, they're welcome to them. I sort of hope not. See the sentence above re: 'wrung'. And ashes too can be interred. I want mine to be scattered. My dilemma is that I have no idea yet regarding where. I have very fond memories of several summers spent with my dad and brother at a northern fly-in fishing lodge near Ft. McMurray. It would almost seem appropriate to have my ashes scattered over the water that provided such entertainment and nourishment for so many August long weekends. The little baby fishies would nibble at the more delectable masses of carbon as they drifted down in the water. These would in turn be eaten by larger fishies who would be eaten by still larger fish. A fortunate fisherman, having been shown where the 'cabbage patch' is such that the biguns can be caught there, just may come up with the prize winning pike who happens to have a little element o' Simon swimming around in him. And the circle of life would be complete.
But back to my funeral. As I'm being driven from the crematorium - what little is left of me - to the parlour wherein my wake is to be held, and subsequently from the parlour to whatever my final destination may be, I would like for the hearse to have two tacky cardboard cutouts of headstones taped to the back. These should be outlined by alternating black and white plastic froufie carnations of the sort you'd find on a wedding car. And scribed on the headstones will be my parting phrase, "Just Buried."
People would groan in laughter and then feel guilty for doing so and then wonder what the heck there really is to feel guilty about.
That would be cool.
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