I am not a morbid person . . . especially when it comes to death. As a minister I have dealt with more than my fair share of death. I have officiated at a lot of funerals. I have had family and friends die. Beloved pets. My wife is a hospice chaplain and regales me with nightly stories of how she is helping people transition from life to . . . well, death. You can’t escape death if you read the newspapers, listen to the radio, or watch television . . . death is a nightly topic within those realms. But I am not a morbid person who spends a lot of time focusing on death.
I am not certain, at this stage of my life, exactly what I think about death. Sounds strange for a person who spent a lifetime comforting people as they died . . . supporting families who lost loved one . . . and, mourning for those within my family and friends who have died. You would think that as a retired pastor I would have a few opinions about death and all that it involves . . . past, present, and future. That is not to say that I don’t have thoughts and ideas about death . . . even my own death, but nothing is written in stone. My thoughts and ideas are a myriad of just that—thoughts and ideas.
I have a friend who is now in his nineties. Fascinating friend who loves old music, spooky stories, dry humor, tawdry references and puns, and loves to write. He has several blogs, and one happens to be about death. The blog is called Death Happens. I appreciate his thoughts about death . . . he makes you think and he can be as random as me. Of course, he has a BIG head start on me!
So, if I’m not morbid then why am I writing about death? Well, because I woke up this morning hoping for an idea to write a blog about. It seems death was what popped into my mind. It was a song. One of my favorite singer/songwriters is the late John Prine . . . has been since I was in high school way back when. Please Don’t Bury Me came screaming through my mind loud and clear. I don’t think that it is an omen of some sort . . . a sign of things to come, but it did get me to thinking. Death might be a fun topic to tackle.
Prine wrote the song way back in 1973 and it still resonates today. The song is about waking up, slipping in the kitchen, hitting his head, and dying. Upon getting to heaven, he is told what happened and what were the last words he said. Basically, he declares that he does not want to be buried and instead that all of him is to be given away. He must have been a medical donor long before it became a “thing” to do. The song is funny and puts a smile on the face. If you love puns and dad jokes . . . well, you will love the song. Here are the words:
Woke up this morning
Put on my slippers
Walked in the kitchen and died
And oh what a feeling!
When my soul went through the ceiling
And on up into heaven I did ride
When I got there they did say
John, it happened this way
You slipped upon the floor
And hit your head
And all the angels say
Just before you passed away
These were the very last words
That you said
Please don't bury me
Down in the cold cold ground
No, I'd druther have 'em cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don't mind the size
Give my stomach to Milwaukee
If they run out of beer
Put my socks in a cedar box
Just get 'em out of here
Venus de Milo can have my arms
Look out! I've got your nose
Sell my heart to the Junkman
And give my love to Rose
But please don't bury me
Down in that cold, cold ground
No, I'd druther have 'em cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don't mind the size
Give my feet to the footloose
Careless, fancy free
Give my knees to the needy
Don't pull that stuff on me
Hand me down my walking cane
It's a sin to tell a lie
Send my mouth way down south
And kiss my ass goodbye
But please don't bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I'd druther have 'em cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don't mind the size
You can listen to the song at this LINK.
When my parents died, they were cremated and buried in the mountains of North Carolina. That was their wish. I did both of their graveside services there on the top of a hill overlooking the Appalachian Mountains at the Methodist Church my mother attended growing up. None of the family had any problem with that, though there were people in my life who thought this was terrible. Terrible because where would my parents be come the rapture? Come the biblical resurrection? Their bodies would be gone. In my mind it was not a problem. God can do anything. I imagine that for God cremation is sort of like a freeze-dried meal . . . add a little water and POOF! Everything is back to normal. Sort of like cooking up a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese.
This was not a problem for the family. It was not our issue. Our parents were gone, and we celebrated them the best that we could. And we miss them. God will take care of the rest. God’s ways are mysterious, but God cares for us despite our silliness.
My parents’ death got my siblings and I to thinking . . . more my siblings because none of them are married. For the most part we are all we have and it is going to be up to us to make decisions whenever one or the other dies . . . decisions like what do you want us to do with you! My sister and I have discussed this the most. My brothers, they chose cremation. In fact, our brother David was cremated a few years ago when he died. I think that is the choice for our youngest brother. And it is definitely the choice of my sister.
Of course, what is supposed to be done with the cremains?
The brothers . . . they will be interred in the cemetery in North Carolina. Makes sense since we have quite a few family plots there and very few family members to place in them. My sister . . . well, she’s a tough cookie. Her wishes are to be flushed down the toilet. That is good enough for her. I guess that makes sense when one considers how much time in our lives we spend upon that porcelain throne contemplating life. Now if she doesn’t beat me to death’s door, she might not have much say in the whole thing. I might do whatever I want. She said that might not be a wise choice as she would haunt me forever. The toilet might be it.
But the thing here is that the choice in the end is cremation. As a person of faith that calls for stewardship . . . well that makes sense. I have said it a million times (at least): “ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Help out the mother earth. Do the Johnny Appleseed thing . . . throw in a few seeds with my ashes. I can handle it. In fact, I am told that there are funeral homes and cemeteries that specialize in this sort of thing. The body is buried with a tree and the tree grows as a memorial to the deceased. Sounds like good stewardship.
Speaking of “good stewardship” I think that was the idea behind declaring oneself a “medical donor” on our driver’s license. Upon death all of our vital organs are divvied up and sparse out to those who need them more than we do at that point. Help save a life. I am a “medical donor”. I want whatever is useable in my body to be used by someone who can benefit from it. Again, the idea of “good stewardship”. And, like John Prine, I imagine that the choices are much as he described in his song.
Then I want to be cremated.
I have never thought about what I want to have done with my cremains. There are the plots in North Carolina, except I doubt if there would be annual trips back to the grave there by the family in Montana. I could have my ashes spread over one of the many beautiful trails throughout the Absaroka and Beartooth mountains that the family has enjoyed over the years and will in the future. I just don’t know. Haven’t given it a whole bunch of thought.
One of the funeral directors I worked with for many years was always dumping ashes on the local golf course in the small town we were living in. He did this even though the town eventually outlawed such acts with cremains. That didn’t stop him, he did what his clients wanted. Whenever he was playing a round of golf he would take a few handfuls here and there, throwing them as he drove around the course. He figured that it was for the best because these people wanted to be where their people were . . . on the golf course, not in some cemetery.
Whatever the case, I am going the cremation route. Plus, my sister is beginning to make sense to me. Once I am gone what do I care? I will be physically gone. I can’t be put in the corner of the living room . . . something has to be done. Being flushed might be the route to go. At least whenever anyone sits upon the porcelain throne, they will be reminded of me. After all, it is better to be remembered than forgotten.
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