Monday, June 06, 2016

I can't go on

I don't plan to leave a grave, or a headstone.  It is my sincere desire to be cremated, and kept in a shoebox in a desk drawer owned by my daughter, so we can carry on at least one-sided conversations conveniently.

I've told her of this plan all her life; she thinks it perfectly normal.  Her boyfriend thinks its creepy, but I'm sure he'll get used to it.

He got used to her, after all.

But if I had a headstone, I can think of none more fitting than this.  In 100 years who's going to know who I was anyway?


  1. Well don't go yet.

    Personally, it's OK if they burn me up, but I'd like to have at least some unobstrusive marker over my remains where those who still remember and love me can come and weep.

  2. Mostly I just liked the picture.

    And, given the mobility of modern life, I don't really want to have a grave in a city where no one I know lives or visits anymore.* Not that I'll care when the time comes, but still: it seems odd, and not a little bit sad.

    To me, anyway.

    *My uncle (one of them), for example, is buried in the city where he lived most of his adult life. But no member of his immediate family even lives in that state anymore. Visiting graveyards where graves are obviously neglected, where no family or friend comes, where the markers long outlive those who remember the departed, makes me very sad, indeed.

  3. Cremation for me, too. Since my church set up a beautiful scatter garden for ashes, neither I nor anyone else in my family will have to make a decision about storing the remains. Back to the earth.