What to do with my innards when I die

I am planning to stay on this earth long enough to meet my grandchild(ren) and to hen-peck my husband relentlessly until he gives in and keels over first. In fact, I plan to live so long that my daughter will have to put me in a home and pay someone to wipe spittle off my chin.

But, should something happen to me . . . I'm not really convinced that my other half fully understands my post-mortem wishes. So, I hope one of my friends will direct him to this blog post. (He does not read my blog, in case you hadn't guessed.)
  • If I have any body parts that the medical establishment could make use of, it is welcome to them. A lot of my parts don't work right (thanks for nothing, uterus!) but maybe I have a kidney or an eyeball that might help someone out. I'm sure my broken thumb is out of the running. (A side note to my friends: would you people stop texting me? my thumb does not freakin' bend and it takes me an hour to respond!)
  • I don't really care what happens to my body after that. I think the law requires that something be done with it, however, so please have me cremated. I do not want to be buried under any circumstances. I mean, how long can we keep shoving bodies in the earth anyway?
  • I don't know what to say about my ashes. All I ask is that I not be placed next to my father-in-law in our basement. We've had him down there since he died in 2006 and we have no idea what to do with him. I used to think I wanted my ashes spread in a park in West Virginia. My Pop-Pop lived in WV until his death in 1989 and he was so well-liked in his community that they put up a plaque in his honor at a nearby park. But now I don't remember where it is, so that might be a problem. I love the ocean, so maybe just dump me there?
  • A funeral really isn't necessary, but I wouldn't be opposed to some sort of party in my memory. The only catch is that only good music is permitted. Hook up my iPod if you want (but first please delete the Coolio song that my friend Dave put on there - I've been meaning to do that forever).
  • Please call my pastor at the UU fellowship and have her come to the party to say witty, meaningful stuff.
  • I don't pretend to know what happens to us when we die, so everyone can skip all the conjecture. In other words, none of this "she's in a better place" stuff when I kick the bucket because really, you don't know.

After some respectable period of time has passed, P is welcome to re-marry. However, it goes without saying that she will probably be a slut who will never measure up to my legacy. Ha ha! Just kidding! Maybe.

And finally, someone please tell my baby girl that I love her "big much," just like she always says to me. And that goes for my friends (two-legged and four-legged) and family, too. I don't feel the need to wax poetic about that because, if I have done things the right way during my earthly days, they already know.

Comments

Anonymous said…
It's not nice to make your friends laugh and cry in a blog. I laugh because you are an extremely funny lady and I cried because I would really hate to think of a world without you in it.
June 19, 2008 at 10:36 PM
Dave Fink said…
I promise... no Coolio. The Humpty Dance maybe, but no Coolio. :)
June 26, 2008 at 8:42 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

14 Weeks

Image
My baby is leaving me in 14 weeks.  She and I started touring colleges in May of 2022. When I applied to colleges back in 1988, I was an English major so there were no auditions. Colleges basically just said, "Sounds good. Come on in." I was the first person in my immediate family to go to college and as a whole, I don't think we understood the importance of campus visits and such. I ended up being fairly miserable that first year until I transferred to a school closer to home. For my daughter, I wanted to make sure she had an opportunity to see lots of college campuses so that she had the best shot at figuring out what she wants out of the college experience. I wanted her to look at elements like campus size and location, diversity, activities, distance from home, and distance from the nearest "big city" (since performers often head to larger cities with active theatre scenes after college).  Last summer, we began the daunting process known as "getting int
Read more

On Being Patriotic

The list of adjectives I assign to myself is pretty long: clumsy, organized, competent, uptight, etc. One that might surprise you: patriotic. I fully understand what it means to be an American and am darned happy about living here. But, I have a beef (that part won't surprise you). I've grown tired of certain segments of the population thinking that they've cornered the market on patriotism or that they can dictate precisely how the rest of us express ourselves when it comes to our shared country and flag. Sometimes it seems like the Toby-Keith-boot-in-yer-ass brand of patriotism drowns out the rest of us. For the record, I don't believe that patriotism requires a love of NASCAR, a disdain for immigrants, a Republican voting record, or a preference for country music. Nor does it require adherence to a specific religion. I've seen Facebook posts from some of my friends and acquaintances that call for all of us to return to the "Christian principles on which
Read more

Three cheers for headgear!

Image
The day has finally arrived. Headgear day! I feel a bit sorry for my daughter's orthodontist. I have a feeling that most kids hate him until they see the end result of all the re-arranging and appliances  - in theory, straight teeth. We pass Dr. M's office building pretty regularly and my daughter shakes her fist at it every time. She was basically a pill during today's visit. He had to make an adjustment to her palate expander and she was not what you'd call a good sport about it. I don't think Dr. M loses a lot of sleep over the fact that my daughter dislikes him, though. Anywho . . . the kid was fitted with her new headgear and we were sent home with instructions and about a hundred million tiny rubber bands. The instructions are that she needs to wear it at least 10 hours a day, if not more like 12. We can't even get Her Highness to flush a toilet - making her wear headgear feels like a Herculean task right out of the gate. But, we shall see. Be glad you
Read more