To my dear family,
With the extended illness of my recently departed uncle, with my transition to “middle age,” with my mother’s sudden health anomaly, my thoughts keep coming back to what happens when I’m gone. Not in an existential way, mind, you, I’m actually just noodling on basic mechanics: Whoops, sorry, I seem to have left a body lying out, probably ought to put that away or something.  Call it contingency planning.  Like I was thinking about who I could make an executor for my will and realized that the people I trust with that task are also the people I’d feel so horrible with burdening. Also, I’m thinking I need to get some documentation put together to make the disposal process a little bit easier should the need arise. Including a formal will, and an inventory of the estate so that my executor just has to log onto my bank account and make the payments on the list before closing things down.
Going back to that body thing, since the estate will kind of take care of itself, one way or another. There are rules, and there are defaults. But I have a very fresh awareness that a lot of the effort of a funeral seems to go to satisfying wildly conflicting views on what is tasteful, and what is acceptable, and what is respectful. Knowing full well that every possible choice includes some cluster of aunts clucking disapprovingly. And the biggest impression I get, supported by the reading I’ve done, is as gentle as they are, the funeral homes are capitalizing on the question of what to do by upselling and extending, driving effort and ceremony and money into the name of “Honouring the departed in the way she would have wanted.”
I can’t change the pressure. I can’t change the desire to do right by me. (I can’t even fault the funeral industry for the upsell) What I can do, though, is to explain how I see this whole subject and what I prefer, so that whoever is stuck with trying to do right by me actually knows the answer to that question. And to explain my preferences, I have to start by acknowledging that I already know some of what I’m going to say will be objectionable to people who love me. So I have to start my declaration here:
If any of this has started to matter, then I am dead, which gives me a license to be utterly unromantic about what’s left behind. You, my loved ones, are the people who may still be in the process of saying goodbye to what I can regard as an ungainly ragdoll made of biological waste. So what I want is secondary, what you need is way more important. I’m dead. Only place I get a vote is Chicago.
Feel any better? Good. Here’s my view from this side of the other side…
Continued…