On funeral wishes
Jason and I attended a funeral this morning. It got us to talking, clarifying our wishes should something unforeseen or sudden happen. This funeral aside, a friend of mine just suddenly lost his wife, and I have two friends coming up on the anniversaries of a parent's death, both sudden. Having a plan seems like a sensible, if scarily adult thing to do.
We both want to be cremated with no viewing. Viewings are creepy, right? The whole concept of embalming, then putting make up on a deceased person so they can be exhibited for view is just freaking scary to me. So we're clear that there will be no viewing or burial.
Jason wants his ashes spread in a bunch of different places that are plain not gonna happen if we go in our seventies or eighties, because my ass will not be hiking up mountains at that age. I'm pretty clear that I don't want to hang around in an urn, just find a pretty tree that gets sunshine and be done with it. I'll be dead. What will I care where my ashes end up?
Neither of us is religious, particularly, although we are pretty spiritual. If people want to share anecdotes that mention their version of God, that's okay. If they talk about how I'm with a specific God now, or give me a Christian service, I will come back and haunt their asses with moaning and the rattling of chains every single night.
Mostly, we just want a party, where people can tell stories and eat good food, and not feel pressure to act solemnly. If it gets sad at some point, well... that's natural. I just personally don't want people to feel like they have to come wearing black (unless they want to, of course), and talk about some sanitized version of me. I mean, have you met me? There is nothing sanitized about me, least of all my mouth. My bitchface, it is legendary. I have Very Strong Opinions. Those things are just as important to who I am as all of the mushy stuff.
People should feel free to wear bright colors, to laugh, to have a snack bar of Pumpkin Flavored Everything. People should feel free to drink lots of bad spiced wine and get the giggles and tell stories about my life that will make my mom blush. People should feel free to say, "fuck, this sucks" if that's how they feel. Um, hopefully about my passing, not the party, but overall, swearing is encouraged in my memory.
I do have a few requests, though. One: no pink roses. Yuck. One glorious bouquet of stargazers will do. Everything else should be donated to local hospitals. Better yet, nobody should feel pressured to buy flowers, and they should just make a donation to the ASPCA or the ACLU instead. Because honestly... I'm dead. Wherever I'm going, there are plenty of flowers already. Two: absolutely no platitudes. No "she's in a better place now." None of it. All that does is make it seem like this world that we live in is not just as beautiful as it is harrowing, and I for one am quite happy to live in it during non-election years.
My final request is that someone play or sing 'Sure on This Shining Night' by Samuel Barber.
That said? We agreed that I'll probably go first. He says it's because I'm stubborn. I say it's because he's freaking late to everything. So he has therefore gleefully agreed that in the event he delivers my eulogy, he will end with "and to finish, I leave you with the words Christina lived her life by. 'Facts, motherf****ers.'" Then he'll drop the mic and walk out.
This is why I married this man.
We both want to be cremated with no viewing. Viewings are creepy, right? The whole concept of embalming, then putting make up on a deceased person so they can be exhibited for view is just freaking scary to me. So we're clear that there will be no viewing or burial.
Jason wants his ashes spread in a bunch of different places that are plain not gonna happen if we go in our seventies or eighties, because my ass will not be hiking up mountains at that age. I'm pretty clear that I don't want to hang around in an urn, just find a pretty tree that gets sunshine and be done with it. I'll be dead. What will I care where my ashes end up?
Neither of us is religious, particularly, although we are pretty spiritual. If people want to share anecdotes that mention their version of God, that's okay. If they talk about how I'm with a specific God now, or give me a Christian service, I will come back and haunt their asses with moaning and the rattling of chains every single night.
Mostly, we just want a party, where people can tell stories and eat good food, and not feel pressure to act solemnly. If it gets sad at some point, well... that's natural. I just personally don't want people to feel like they have to come wearing black (unless they want to, of course), and talk about some sanitized version of me. I mean, have you met me? There is nothing sanitized about me, least of all my mouth. My bitchface, it is legendary. I have Very Strong Opinions. Those things are just as important to who I am as all of the mushy stuff.
People should feel free to wear bright colors, to laugh, to have a snack bar of Pumpkin Flavored Everything. People should feel free to drink lots of bad spiced wine and get the giggles and tell stories about my life that will make my mom blush. People should feel free to say, "fuck, this sucks" if that's how they feel. Um, hopefully about my passing, not the party, but overall, swearing is encouraged in my memory.
I do have a few requests, though. One: no pink roses. Yuck. One glorious bouquet of stargazers will do. Everything else should be donated to local hospitals. Better yet, nobody should feel pressured to buy flowers, and they should just make a donation to the ASPCA or the ACLU instead. Because honestly... I'm dead. Wherever I'm going, there are plenty of flowers already. Two: absolutely no platitudes. No "she's in a better place now." None of it. All that does is make it seem like this world that we live in is not just as beautiful as it is harrowing, and I for one am quite happy to live in it during non-election years.
My final request is that someone play or sing 'Sure on This Shining Night' by Samuel Barber.
That said? We agreed that I'll probably go first. He says it's because I'm stubborn. I say it's because he's freaking late to everything. So he has therefore gleefully agreed that in the event he delivers my eulogy, he will end with "and to finish, I leave you with the words Christina lived her life by. 'Facts, motherf****ers.'" Then he'll drop the mic and walk out.
This is why I married this man.