She's dead, wrapped in plastic

Like most kids, I grew up with a decent fear of death. I did my best to avoid any reminder that death was around me. If my pet died, take it away and bury it. Don’t tell me where you buried it. Don’t even remind me I had a pet to begin with. If a relative died, don’t make me walk up to the casket and see their body. It’s not them. It doesn’t even look like they did in life.

And I never understood the western tradition of presenting a body for viewing. I mean, I think I can understand. It probably comes from property right struggles where a body had to be shown to prove a death. Or from a sense of disbelief that they really are dead until you see the body.

But it’s creepy. You take a body. Pump it full of nasty shit that gives it a shelf life longer than twinkies. Put enough makeup on it that Dame Edna could be seen as a pentacostal. Place it in clothes they never would wear in life. Be honest. Uncle Jim Bob, the one who spent every Sunday watching ESPN and licking buffalo wing drippings from his fingers. The one who was more at home with a power tool than a hair brush. The one who thought Hooters was the local 5 star restaurant. The epitomy of the dirty shirt, American male. Do you really think he looks right in the Brooks Brother’s knock off suit? Hell no!

So it’s all together creepy. And it’s all show, which I don’t understand. For me, present me like I am in real life. Dirty white tennis shoes, a well worn t-shirt that is starting to get a bit thread bare, and shorts. There, that’s me.

Skyprincess has planned her funeral out. She’s already purchased the funeral package and has all the details written out. She wants to be cremated and have her ashes split and distributed in different locations. Which I think is such a cool idea.

I had a talk to my mom years ago about how I wanted my funeral to go. For me, I hated the idea of being on display. I don’t want a funeral. I don’t want anyone to come and “pay their respects”. I don’t want some headstone somewhere that’s forgotten years and years from now. For me, burn me and throw me away. It’s not me anymore. And coming to view a huge hunk of worm food isn’t going to really give you any closure. If you want to remember me, then revisit your old memories. If you don’t, then that’s fine with me. I’ve never been one of those who feels they need to leave behind some legacy to show they existed.

Most of my life, I’ve spent considerable effort to hide where I am. To not leave bread crumb trails of where I was or where I am going. Why should that change when I’m dead? My love ones will remember me, and that’s all I want. For those who think they need to be remember in order to prove they existed, I say bullshit. You are here now. Enjoy life now. How you are remembered 100 years after your death really means shit now. It’s far more important how your neighbor remembers you today, than some stranger in a 100 years. All they’ll know is some fact about you anyways. He was short. He was rich. He was responsible for burning down a city block after his bar-b-que grill exploded. That’s what they’ll remember. Not how you enjoy drinking your coffee with splenda instead of sugar. It’s the little things that make you who you are.

-Mizike-

P.S.
10 points to anyone who recognizes the quote used in the title WITHOUT googling it.