"Let us prepare our minds as if we'd come to the very end of life. Let us postpone nothing. Let us balance life's books each day...the one who puts the finishing touches on their life each day is never short of time." Seneca
It pays to be a good consumer, even after you have stopped consuming. The modern funeral industry is waiting for you. They know you'll show up eventually. And better take your checkbook. They have an almost perfect business model: they will get your business, sooner or later, and they know you will open the vaults (pun not intended) and give them whatever they want.
You may want to click on something else before you read the rest of this - not all of it is gentle. It deals with death and what happens to us naturally, or unnaturally, when it comes for us. I'll wait (but not long). OK, are you gone? Alright, let's chat.
Before I begin, did you know that death wasn't always such a surety as it is today. Some people had such a fear of being buried alive that they rigged up bells that the decedent could ring for help from the grave.
These were "safety coffins" and used various techniques to summon help in case you were only kind of dead. The phrase "saved by the bell" came out of that funeral feature.
In a box somewhere I have dozens of those leaflets they hand you at a visitation or funeral. As I proceed through life, rapidly it seems, it is only fitting to begin to think of my service, or lack of, as well. And what I see is no service at all. Of course, I won't have the final word. I have heard of final wishes being dashed to the wind to suit the wants and needs of the surviving family. Legally, my remains belong to the current Mrs. Blythe. So there you go on that front. But I will, eventually, put to paper my personal wishes. Naturally, I won't really give a dash one way or the other, but having broached the subject with her, I don't think there will be much resistance. And since she doesn't read this blog, then you guys can sit in the back of the room in your hard pew or folding chair and "tsk, tsk" at my abandoned wishes. Just remember, disappointment is no stranger to me.
On average, a typical funeral will cost the family between $6,800 to $11,000 depending on lots of things. Casket, vault, embalming services, services fee, plot, opening plot, cemetery labor, funeral home costs including that nice little flier and other sundry items will insure a nice ceremony for friends and family. Of course this also doesn't include the little metal marker and eventual headstone.
You can do a cremation cheaper but those ole rascally undertakers still want you to reach into your pocketbook to honor your loved ones appropriately. That usually still means all the fixins' without the labor intensive handling charge of your casket or the super-sized vault. They'll still want you to buy everything else of course - gotta still look good in a nice box and all that. If you start to balk, the directors will dip into their handy reference manuals all the platitudes that will get you to fork over: "the service is for the living" or "it's a way for your family to honor the memory" or any number of tricks-of-the-trade to get you to fork over.
With that in mind I plan on instructing those who own my dead body to reject the entreaties of the traditional industrial funeral machine.
I am instructing my family to opt for a "direct cremation". No embalming, no casket, no visitation, no laid out under a rose colored light, no cosmetic work. Wrap me up and throw me in the oven. Why on earth would I want to be stared at dead? I have seen what some deaths do to contort the faces of people. Some have been unrecognizable. Sorry, that's not for me. I didn't like being stared at in life either. Introverted to the end. I guess if you want to see me, catch me now.
I opt for cremation because I am not too keen to have my body liquefy and become a smouldering anaerobic exploding mess in that casket. It's not pretty. Let's just skip it.
There is a plot at Pope Creek Church cemetery in Seaton next to my folks that will do nicely for whatever remains of me. I have toyed with the idea of small baggies of my ashes going to a number of places that meant something in life. Maybe the grounds of Mary Davis or the hills around Denver where Jan and I had a meadow picnic. Maybe the Seaton ball diamond. Forget Florida, please. One real possibility is the NHCC. Maybe a nice small jar sitting on a shelf overlooking things might be nice. Anyway, I haven't got that part all worked out yet. No flowers, no Bible verse readings, no need to take a day off or skip that ballgame on TV. I'm thinking a couple hours at the Club or Beer Bellies where the beer is on me, or rather the estate, such as it is. Come on in, order a cold one, think charitable thoughts and leave it at that.
Well, that's basically it. It's not all about the money, although that is a large factor. I do not see the need to spend thousands on a casket that will be seen for about three hours, then shoved into a fancy vault that will never be seen since its already in the ground. Its rather obscene, really. My kids or grandkids can have much more valuable use to those funds than the poor beggars in funeral industry. Its also my natural inclination to just do it all quietly, away from the limelight, and recognize it would be a small affair anyway. I don't have a large entourage - mine is small but solid. Please don't shed tears for the undertakers should I decline to take advantage of their full, traditional services. My little meager act of defiance won't affect them in the slightest. The funereal machine is greased and ready to take someone else's money.
When it is all said and done stop by Pope Creek sometime.
And if you hear a bell near my grave, shut your damn cell phone off, I'm trying to sleep.
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