I went to a wake last week. It was for a friend, a bicycle buddy. She died unexpectedly, in her sleep. Her head hit the pillow and then she woke up in heaven. I can think of few better ways to go. It was an open casket affair. I hate open casket affairs. People never look like they looked before. I plan on being cremated. She had two urns with her in her coffin. Her cats, someone said. I would like my ashes to be spread at the cabin, across the lake, on a sunny day with a mild offshore breeze. That’s it, simple, mostly environmentally friendly, with the opportunity to posthumously travel internationally, at least to Canada or maybe if I am still feeling adventurous in the afterlife, paddle to the sea.
Some people have suggested that I have some of my ashes placed in an egg timer. That way I could still participate in family game night, but I am sure that I would eventually begin to clump and then I would have to be shaken and not stirred. That seems so contrary to whole rest-in-peace thing. Please do not leave me too long on the upper shelf in the bedroom closet, only to gather dust and be all too soon forgotten. You can wait until the ice melts, but do not linger much longer after that. Let me go on the beach, on a beach day and remember me on all those beach days to come, because life is a beach and then you die.