As I sat in the faux-Victorian style room in a funeral parlor in suburban New Jersey, I thought not of my recently deceased uncle, but how I would want my funeral to be different. After all, there is nothing like going to a funeral to make you think about your mortality, and how you want to be remembered.
Family funerals tend to follow a pattern, one I would like to break (though not any time too soon). We gather for a few hours in a large room within a funeral parlor that can be a former Victorian home, or 1960s one-story building. The room is always set up the same: a casket (with the newly deceased dressed up) in the front with large bouquets (even if the deceased asked for no flowers). There are rows upon rows of chairs. The ones closest to the casket are real fake leather armchairs for the people closest to the deceased. Beyond that are about 10 rows of chairs, often nicer folding chairs. Around the room are posters of pictures showing the deceased in his/her glory days, often taken by the family member who made the posters because it is from their collection. A modern update is seeing the same pictures scrolling on a flat screen TV, which turns people into Zombies as they stare at the pictures.
People gather together and talk. Could be stories about the deceased, or it could be about the weather, sports, or any other topic that would be discussed with people you have both never met, or have not seen in decades and won't see again until the next such gathering where it is a toss up which one of you will be in the box in the front.
This goes on for a day or two.
A clergy member will gather everyone together to say something about the dearly departed, and offer condolences. If the person was a church goer, these are meaningful words. Otherwise the person often calls the newly deceased by a new nickname and uses a plug-in sermon. They lived. They did. They loved. They died.
We either caravan to the cemetery, or meet there again the next day for a shorter service (everyone except the closest of people are standing). We watch the person go into the ground in their new cabinetry.
As we left my uncle to the cold ground, I turned to Don and Ashley and said "I don't want that." Don thought I meant I don't want an open casket. Ashley said she better take notes because she is afraid I will haunt her if she gets it wrong.
Ashley, this is for you. May you not need the information for many decades.
I do not want people gathering around my casket to say good-bye. Funeral directors never make women up right. I doubt they'd let me keep my ponytail and make-up free house and instead spread my hair out framing my made up face. What earrings would you part with to let me be buried with? What a waste to be buried with jewelry! It won't do me any good where I am going (in either case).
So what do I want?
Instead of an expensive funeral, buy a bench in my honor at a local trail and put on a simple plaque. Gather around the bench with family and friends on a nice day and swap stories. Tell lots of stories. Make up stories. Laugh. Cry. Laugh again.
Come back to the house and tell more stories. Eat. Have lots of chocolate. Have flowers you like -- not gladiolas and super smelly flowers they use in funeral homes because they stand up tall -- wildflowers. A few roses (not red ones, though). Some ice cream. Hold the party over a few days so people can come and go. Or if you find it too exhausting, don't. Find comfort in your spouse, your cousins, your friends.
As for my body, I know Don doesn't care what happens to his body after he is died. He is fine with cremation, but I'm not as big a fan of cremation. Maybe because I like archaeology too much, I want part of me found in a couple of hundred years. On the other hand, if I die in some far flung place, I don't want you to fly my body home only to be buried. That hardly makes sense.
Donate my body to science.
Okay, maybe I still have at least one big kink to work out.
When in doubt, ask a Jewish friend for ideas. I like their practices over Christian ones.
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