I had my wishes set up in a will about 8 years ago - especially after I saw far too many funerals of friends and loved ones who had no instructions on paper/witnessed; resulting in a ton of fights between family members.
My friend Tim's ashes sat on his sister's shelf for years because nobody knew what to do with them. For all I know, they may still be there.
I want to be cremated and scattered in the ocean. No funeral home vultures and cheesy strangers giving eulogies for me. Nobody wasting money putting makeup on me and doing my hair. Nobody having lasting memories of how my dead body looked or smelled. Ugghhhhhh.
I want my family to go out in a boat on the ocean on a nice sunny summer day, have a seafood feast and enjoy the water, wildlife, and view, and scatter me. (That's after they've donated all possible organs.) Good lord, don't save my body. For what? Nothing upsets me more than visiting someone's grave and thinking that they're down there below me a few feet, in a box, decomposing.
I want to be mulched. Seriously, this is an option. I want to be fertilizer. It's not entirely 100% green just yet, but I'm hoping that by the time I die, the technology will have been worked out.
Also... my mom knew she wanted to be cremated, but she never specified what to do with her ashes except for a few vague thoughts. When I expressed those vague thoughts to my stepfather and grandfather, I was literally shouted down. They wanted her ashes to be interred in the family burial area in rural Illinois. I have no problem with that outside of what I think my mom would have wanted, but... well... it was her ashes. She's gone. So if it makes them feel better, then fine.
I still feel a bit annoyed that I got yelled at for expressing my mom's vague sort of wishes, though. It doesn't matter, but I personally would have felt better throwing them out over Half-Moon Beach in Cambria, or even over Glendale College, where she both learned and taught.
Ah, fuck, I dunno. Why am I telling you this? I don't know.
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My friend Tim's ashes sat on his sister's shelf for years because nobody knew what to do with them. For all I know, they may still be there.
I want to be cremated and scattered in the ocean. No funeral home vultures and cheesy strangers giving eulogies for me. Nobody wasting money putting makeup on me and doing my hair. Nobody having lasting memories of how my dead body looked or smelled. Ugghhhhhh.
I want my family to go out in a boat on the ocean on a nice sunny summer day, have a seafood feast and enjoy the water, wildlife, and view, and scatter me. (That's after they've donated all possible organs.) Good lord, don't save my body. For what? Nothing upsets me more than visiting someone's grave and thinking that they're down there below me a few feet, in a box, decomposing.
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I still feel a bit annoyed that I got yelled at for expressing my mom's vague sort of wishes, though. It doesn't matter, but I personally would have felt better throwing them out over Half-Moon Beach in Cambria, or even over Glendale College, where she both learned and taught.
Ah, fuck, I dunno. Why am I telling you this? I don't know.
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