I recently updated my Advance Directive. I handed it over to my husband to witness and sign. He read it and then looked up over his glasses. “You know there are times to be serious.”
“You don’t know how to be reverent,” he replies.
I look reverently at my finely crafted work. “Well, this is dead serious,” I reply, thinking the pun appropriate. Here are a few highlights:
I wish to have a short funeral service featuring a super cute picture of me instead of displaying my cold, dead body. And I don’t want a lot of preachy sermons, maybe a spiritual 2½ minute talk. The rest should be all about me—how wonderful, funny, smart and awesome I am. Er… was.
I want to be cremated and my ashes spread in a beautiful spot overlooking the desert hills of Southern Utah. Save a few sprinkles for a token monument where people can go to mourn my loss, bare their souls and update me on their lives. However, don’t be surprised if I don’t hear any of it, as I don’t plan on sticking around a cemetery. I will likely be off exploring the Spirit World, oceans, stars and the like, catching up with family members who arrived before me and playing with all my beloved spirit dogs and cats. Woo-eee! No resting in peace for me!
Not a bad plan, eh? I seriously don’t want my passing to be a sad, weepy, somber event but rather a celebration of a full, blessed life. It would be different if I were like, youngor something, which I’m not.
I’m not a stranger to the indescribable heartbreak of loss and I’m certainly not making light of the sorrow and suffering of such. But I’ve had a magnificent life and every opportunity from here on out is icing on the cake, or even better, gravysince I hate frosting.
When the time comes that my shelf life draws near (my exact expiration date is indecipherable) I seriously hope my life will have been cause for a joyful and not-too-reverent fête.