My friend had a strange dream last night.  He dreamed someone he knew had been exterminated, and another was on the list.  He was disturbed by the nature of the dream and left wondering, “Who’s the next victim? ”  Tonight, as I sat eating my supper, the word ‘deathbed’ materialized.  I’m pretty tired and the mind can do funny things.

Probably not all that odd, I think more about my own mortality as I  move into my mid 40s.  I have a mother who is not well, a 92 year old grandmother, and another relative possibly in harms way.

I see family members all around me living unhealthy lifestyles. There have been smoking induced cancers, heart disease, diabetes (type 2), and alcoholism.  I have to keep reminding myself, it’s their choice to commit a gradual suicide.  But it’s impossible to not have sadness around their choices. None of us have any guarantees.  I could die in my sleep.  I could be the next on the exterminator’s list, the dream becoming  a premonition.   My broccoli-spinach-kale-cycling-swimming-walking lifestyle not capable of providing the longevity I had counted on.

I have intentions of studying about how different cultures deal with death.  We’re often uncomfortable with the topic here in the U.S.

A few years ago I designated a notebook as my death and dying notebook.  As I was riding my bike home this afternoon, I was thinking about my directions for how I want my death to be handled.  I don’t want a funeral of any sort. I want a party!  A celebration of my life.  I want my friends and family to tell stories about how we were connected.  I want lively music and dancing. Healthy food.  No alcohol or smoking.  I want joy at my party. Sadness is welcome to attend as well.
Further directions: I want my body to be recycled.  My driver’s license is my punch card for recycling my organs. I hope someone else can get good use of my parts.  Maybe that broccoli will pay off after all.   What is left of me can go underground in a biodegradable casket basket, no headstone, just a tree planted right on top. Its roots sinking into the fertile soil of my decomposing body.

As for that party, that celebration needs to begin now,  while i’m still alive and can enjoy it right alongside everyone else.  Now the question is….”Who’s going to throw the bash?!”   Maybe I should write, and publish, my own obituary to see who steps forward as the party planner.

It seems I read somewhere that getting eight, or more, hours of sleep every night adds years to your life.  I think I better get onto bed now. I’m still hoping to be around in the morning (and for the party)!

Copyright 2014 learningtocry.wordpress.com