Wednesday, October 26, 2011

putting the "fun" in funeral

So I went to a funeral on my birthday, and even though it's dialing the morbid up to 11, I want to say a few things.

When I die, I don't want people to sit around a church and read Bible verses I didn't care about. I don't want some strange fat lady to put a black fleece vest on over her secretary outfit and sing religious songs that I've never heard. I don't want a preacher reading off a card, pretending like he knew me. I don't want everyone to stand around in a parlor in ugly and uncomfortable shoes, making awkward conversation and not eating scones. And I definitely don't want people to pretend I was any better than I was.

So here's what I want: I want a funeral that's fun.

Go somewhere I loved, a park or a backyard or a pretty field. Wear whatever makes you most comfortable, even if it's jeans and boots. Especially if it's jeans and boots. Have a bonfire. Hook up my iPod and pump my favorite playlists. Bring my books and art and tell funny stories from 11th grade history class. Get drunk and dance around like fools. Bring your guitars and play music, or hell, just play a few rounds of Rock Band and celebrate my world-famous lack of any musical skill. Eat cake. Make each other laugh. Give away all my stuff to people who will actually treasure it.

If you want to celebrate my life, celebrate it like I lived it: with humor, with joy, with snarky comments, with pranks and movie quotes. With wacky.

And if you really feel like crying, turn on the Airborne Toxic Event's cover of The Book of Love, right at the end. Watch a slide show of photos of me laughing and pass out printed copies of my blog. Hold hands around the bonfire and get out one good cry.

And then go buy more of my books so I'll become a posthumous success.

But most importantly, have fun. Let that be my legacy.


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Took down the pretty song as it was causing blogprobs.

Go here if you want to be F'ING HAUNTED BY MELANCHOLIA.

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5 comments:

Marko said...

I am COMPLETELY and TOTALLY with you on that one. My spouse has standing instructions that if I am to go before her, my funeral is to be a celebration of my life rather than a mopey mourning. Get drunk on cocktails, tell jokes, laugh at all the good times we had together.

Personally, I'd love to have my ashes loaded into shotgun shells and used for skeet-shooting as my friends take turns scattering me over an acre or so of lovely New England.

dk said...

Marko, I've never been skeet shooting, but that seems like a totally awesome way to go. Delilah, I'm with you, too. I want a drunken, whisky-fueled Irish wake, with a ska band with accordions and bagpipes, whipping out 80s covers and Dropkick Murphy's covers. (I should point out, just for the record, that I appear to be only 1/64th Irish, but I prefer the Irish bit to the German polkas or Swedish 'set-afloat-on-a-burning-boat' traditions...)

ChaosMandy said...

I love the idea of a fun funeral :)

The only instructions I've given my husband is that if I pass away before him, he needs to sneak some of my ashes into the Haunted Mansion and scatter them in the ride.

Runs with Granchildren said...

I have always said, upon my death, to give any of my working parts to those in need, then give the rest to science. Well, I looked into that the other night, and apparently I'm already old enough that no one wants this old thing. So burn it, or stuff it & stand it in a corner with a beer in my hand, then have a big BBQ with lots of beer and music and jokes. I want to be celebrated, not mourned. Anyone dressed up will be turned away, or given jeans at the door. I have a song list that must be played that's a reflection of my past and hope for my after-life. Celebrate my life, for it was charmed and blessed in so many ways.

Tanya said...

I was always confused about what happens when the dead person hasn't been to church in 25 years. I'm reasonably sure somebody somewhere told me that God tells the minister about the person and that's how he knows what to say. That didn't really make me less confused.

I would like a genuine New Orleans brass band to play down whatever quiet midwestern street I'd been living on but husband is from Arizona so . . . yeah.

And Marko you can totally get your ashes made into shells in Alabama. Just read about it last week.