Tuesday, September 23, 2008

On Death and Dying...okay, just "Death".

If you are healthy and ruminate about your death, it's creepy. If you have had cancer, it's kind of "okay". So, needless to say, I have ruminated quite a bit about my death, but more importantly--my funeral. The last hurrah, the party at the end, the accolades for being born. You get the picture, yes?

So, it goes like this: I die. After they are over the initial shock (or relief, take your pick) my friends and family post notice of my death on the various e-mail lists and websites I participate it. Comments and e-mails pour in by the dozens. It is actually overwhelming. My obituary requires extra payment it takes up so many columns. There is a HUGE (but tasteful) wreath on the front door of my store, and my adoring customers lay flowers and candles beneath a photo of me on a placard (probably without hair, so that passers-by will know what actually killed me). This goes on for weeks.

My husband has promised to not let me be buried, cremated, whatever (I haven't decided yet) naked from the waist down. Did you know that? I want underwear, pants and shoes. I shudder to think that one of the Mowells will see me naked. Nothing against them, it's just that I "know them." EEek. What shall I wear? All white is what comes to mind, but other than a white string bikini, I can't get specific. Wouldn't that be funny? Remind Todd should the time come.

My hair would have to either be done by my stylist, or if I didn't have hair, it would have to be my rock n'roll blonde wig. As for make-up, I don't wear much, and I sure as hell don't want to look like a hooker on the way out.

Flowers? Some, yes. However, I would rather you take your money and donate it to a BC support group, or buy yourself some Pearl Jam tickets. If you choose the second, you will thank me if only in your prayers.

I got the music part DOWN. Let's start it out with "Angel" by Jewel as people are walking in, looking at the lovely placard (love that word) of various photos of my life. During the service, invariably there would be talk about Cooper, which would be followed with "Godspeed" by The Dixie Chicks. It will break your heart. Blah, blah, blah--married, child, renaissance woman, Serendipity, friends, family, followed by a heart-felt video. Pat Dennis says some words about me (laughing ensues), Deanna speaks (but only two words, as she can't say more than "Krista was"), and Cooper reads a poem he wrote. Okay, that might be pushing it. Cooper plays a riff on the guitar. Better. On the way out, "ARC" by Ed Ved. You probably haven't heard it, but it will make sense if you do. I sob just hearing it now.

Would it be selfish to ask for a party afterwards? An open bar, smoking inside, DJ-led party?!? Would people actually go to that? Would they get trashed and talked about me? Would they say only good things? Would I care at that point? Knowing me, I would find a way to care.

Oh, I have thought more about what I would want my husband, child and family to know before I went. I guess planning this part would be the only "fun part" of dying. Well, there's Heaven, too, but you all aren't there yet.

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