In the event of my demise...

Recently, my wife's aunt died. She'd had health problems for years, and rather than an altogether sad event, her passing was viewed as a release from the pain and stifling bonds she had endured.

Unfortunately, her death came at a time when the financial resources of those around her were at a low point. She had made some arrangements for her final resting place long before her passing, but the nothing near the total costs were conceived nor paid for. A plot was bought long ago, but nothing else. Sacrifices were made to accommodate her remains with dignity, but even at that, some concessions were necessary. In the end, we simply couldn't afford to properly heed even her simple wishes. I didn't know the woman well, but even so our inability to put her to rest in the manner she desired troubled me, and I know it was very upsetting to her loved ones.

Unfortunately, the company behind the resting place of her choosing wasn't interested in answering questions, only whether cash, check or credit card would be used. Vultures. What a racket it all seems to be, when a family of limited means is struck by loss and is caught over a barrel. Caught in a choice between thousands of dollars in unexpected debt or discarding your loved one's remains without dignity or respect for their wishes - it's a terrible choice to be made.

I ain't goin' out like that. In the event of my death, I want to be put to rest in the same fashion in which I hope to have lived: cheaply.

There's no shame in that. As I write this, I am reminded of my Dad's request for his own casket, discussed around the time of my Mom's death. He described his wishes in two simple, abrupt words: "Pine box."

My only rebuttal: "What the Hell's wrong with cardboard, Rockerfeller?"

I am lucky enough to have a few good people around me who will be stricken by my own end. Let that be enough misery for one day, and let my own arrangements be settled for less than the cost of a decent laptop, not a decent automobile. Let me be cremated over a campfire where hobos drink cheap liquor and get warm, but complain bitterly about the smell. Let me be buried in the Sierra Nevada mountains - someplace high up, with nice soft dirt, (none of the Calaveras rockscrabble of my own back yard) easy for the gravedigger to get into; why ruin his day? - someplace not too far from a dirt road, when the Ranger ain't lookin'. Let me be buried in a shallow hole, with my feet stickin' out so the skunks and wolves can gnaw off my toes, if only it prevents my family and friends from digging into their shallow pockets (or further) to take care of my empty husk.

Hey, while we're at it (and since I'm none too worried about the condition of my postmortem remains), I really should sign up to be an organ donor...

I don't think funeral services should cost more than a Mexican vacation. Since I bring it up, I don't think funeral services should cost more than a Mexican combo plate, but I guess I'll have to be realistic.

What I do want is for the event of my mortal release to be a mixture of happy and sad. I hope to be discussed, remembered, celebrated, criticized, gossiped over, slandered, memorialized and drank to. None of these things cost much at all - most cost nothing, save for the booze. I want to be the center of attention for the night, while I'm too dead to be embarrassed by the regard.

Now that I've made someone else's Moment of Truth all about me, my work here is done. I hope this writing serves to guide those left behind. I hope my send-off is meaningful, inexpensive and easy, in every manner possible. It seems selfish to me to do otherwise. And fuck the undertakers.