Blastoff U2
No, I’m not dying. Well, not in the immediate sense anyway.
It’s just that this month my mind has floated to it a few times. The show I’m in talks about death, my cousin’s funeral, friends have lost loved ones. It’s been a bittersweet month.
Eddy and I have talked about what we wanted at our funerals. In fact, I made him put in writing where he wanted to be buried, because every family is different and I didn’t want to argue with his Mom about his wishes. I know what he wants – to be buried in a National Cemetery, especially if he dies in the line of duty.
I want to be cremated and buried under some tree in a forest. Okay, if Eddy and I do end up doing that “together forever” thing and he goes first, put my shoebox on top of him.
But honestly, I want to go out the cheapest way possible. I’ve actually considered donating my body to science so that my family is out zero money. That whole crime lab thing in TN looks interesting too.
If my closest family members need to say goodbye to my body then okay. That’s fine. But not everyone needs to. Or I don’t need them to. And I don’t need anyone to feel obligated to tend my graveside. I believe the ones we love stay with us. My grandmother is far more in my heart than in a field in South Dallas.
So burn me but don’t keep any of me. Don’t put me in a box and drag me all over town. And please dear God don’t let a herd of people see me in said box looking my worst. Can you imagine what my double chin would look like lying on my back like that? Ugh.
Harvest my organs at will. In fact, I demand that if there is anything reusable about me, take it. It’s not like I need it later. If I find out someone didn’t use a reusable piece, I’m coming back down and dying again.
I heard recently about a man who passed away and instead of a regular formal funeral, his family hosted a party. They rented out a ballroom at Dallas’ Informart and played music and had an open bar.
That’s how I want to go out. If any money is going to be spent upon the occasion of my death, I want it to be on a kick-ass party. Serve my favorite Mexican and German beer. Get a DJ. NO sad songs. NO “Amazing Grace.” Mexican food. Drink, dance and be merry. Share warm memories of me (if I’ve left you any) and remember me how I want to be remembered – La Party Girl. Share pictures of me smiling and having fun. Photoshop a few so I can look hot.
Choose to celebrate my time here; try not to mourn the fact that I am gone.
In the meantime, I’m going to choose to live it up…
Where Were We? 