Sunday, November 1, 2015

When I Die

My grandmother didn't get a funeral.  Neither did my uncle.  Or my grandfather.  I'm pretty sure their bodies were donated to science because that's how you can dispose of human remains for free and get out of doing any of the official paperwork.  I've checked.  I don't want to be disposed of as cheaply as possible and then promptly treated like I never existed.  When I die, I want someone to acknowledge it.

I told my husband what I want to happen when I die, but I want to write it down too for future reference.  I have life insurance, so this shouldn't cost anyone anything from their own pockets.  First, I want to be cremated and my ashes spread somewhere outside.  I don't really care where, but I don't want to be embalmed or buried or kept in an urn under someone's bed.  Next, I want there to be a party.  It doesn't need to be at a funeral home and people don't need to be somber or anything, but I want there to be good liquor and rich food.  Maybe hold it at someone's house or at a park if the weather is good.  My best friend should be invited, obviously.  My remains do NOT need to be present because gross, but there are some flattering pictures of me on my Facebook page if someone wants to print one out.

People should tell funny stories and maybe have some music.  It doesn't all have to center around me, but someone should give a toast at some point acknowledging my death and the fact that I was once alive.  Maybe someone could read the letter Jerry once wrote me describing what's great about me because I can't imagine anyone coming up with nicer things to say about me than that.  She described me as though I'm already the person I've always wanted to be.  I think she might actually see me that way.  I don't even know how that's possible.  I keep that letter in my jewelry box.

I would also like a factually accurate obituary run in at least a couple local newspapers for the genealogical purposes of future generations.  I don't want my genetically erroneous birth certificate to be all there is to go on.  Here is a template for what information I would like included:

Christina Rossetti Martin* was born April 15, 1982 in Cincinnati, Ohio with the assistance of third party reproductive technology.  She died at [specific date] in Little Township, Illinois after a short battle with colon cancer (I'm guessing) and a long span of being toyed with by God and man.  Christina was raised by parents Annie Wilkes Rossetti* and Paul Rossetti.  She met her husband Michael Martin when they were college classmates at The University of New York.  They settled in Little Township, Illinois in 2010 and had one child, Eliza.  Christina is [survived by / preceded in death by] her mother Annie, her biological father Joseph Von Trapp, her adoptive brother Dante, her paternal half-siblings Hans and Simone Von Trapp, possibly some other paternal half-siblings no one knows about, her husband Michael, their daughter Eliza, any grandchildren that might exist, and her best friend Jerry.  And to anyone who says she "lost her battle with cancer" as though "winners" live forever, she would like to cordially invite you to go fuck yourself and remember that death is coming for you too!

*You know by now that these are all fake names, right?  Well, almost all of them anyway.

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