04-10-2007, 09:15 PM
I'll stick with the old ways.
I honestly can't say one way or the other in terms of a trend. I can say that when my grandfather passed this winter, he was cremated, and a service will be held sometime this spring or summer (interesting story about that, actually). Part of this certainly was convenience, but more that of his wife, my grandmother, than the rest of the family. They had only gotten back to their home in Florida a few months prior, and so she was already financially and mentally drained. I think it was much more to do with energy and well-being than financial, to be sure. My grandfather was never an easy man to live with, and he was a great deal of work to handle in his later years, as his body slowly but surely gave out. She stuck by him to the end, though; no nursing home for him, except for a few brief visits for post-care.
On the other hand, I live right down the street from the town cemetery (where my sister is, as you put it, interned). I still see plenty of funerals being attended there, in the ways of old. Mind you, we're talking a handful a year that I actually witness, but there's at least that many more that I don't see, or that I only see the freshly turned earth. It's a small town, with a small cemetery, and people aren't dropping like flies, but even so, I still see funerals. It helps that the funeral home is just a couple hundred feet further away, and we have a whole slew of churches in town, with... 3 - 4 within walking distance of where I live.
As for me, personally, I'm not sure how I feel about rotting away in the ground. I'd like to romanticize it by thinking of it more as "returning to the earth from whence I came", but really, the grim truth is I'll be rotting away in a box. Not very "returning to earth" if I do say so myself. On the other hand, I kind of like the thought of lying in a bed of sorts, although the idea of being nailed shut in a box isn't all that thrilling, either. I certainly don't want to be cremated, though. If I am to turn to ash, let me turn to dust beforehand. Besides, I definitely don't want to be stuck in a metal pot, displayed like some trophy around the relatives' houses.
I've always found peace in cemeteries. I love them, for a variety of reasons. I've always been given solace and comfort by them, and because of that, I want my survivors to have the same. So in all likelihood, I will be buried in the earth, likely next to my sister (the difference in casket size would be morbidly amusing). The only other thing I can think of is a true Viking funeral, but again, I'm not sure if I can truly romanticize the idea of my death enough to actually want something like that. Besides, there is something to be said for going to the earth whole. Not to mention that, as much as I love being on the sea, sailing, what-have-you, I am not much of a sea-farer, at least in terms of being IN the water. Still... I could see myself going for a Viking funeral. I suppose part of that would be whether or not my father has one when he passes (which will no doubt be many years from now).
Since we're on such a morbid topic, here's a little humorous diddy to bright your day. I work for my father, in town, and we both have boxes at the local P.O., along with our service manager (automotive repair). Generally, either myself or my father will go and gather the mail each day, Monday through Friday. On one particular day, just like any other, my father suggests it's a good time to get the mail. I grab his key, along with our service manager's, and head out. I gather the mail from all three boxes, and find a card in my father's for a pick-up at the counter. I casually wait in the short line to deliver the notice, hand over the card and patiently wait for them to bring it to me. Out comes this good-sized (not huge, but not small, either) box. He places it on the scale as he does his little routine for the paperwork. As he's doing this, and I'm wandering around in my own thoughts, he looks up at me and says "Who died?" At this point, I'm rather perplexed. My grandfather has passed, very recently, but there's no way he could have known that, and yet here he was asking me. So I give him a querying look, to which he responds by pointing at the side of the box - where it stated, in large undeniable letters, "cremated remains", or something to that effect (somehow, I've managed to forget the exact words - I think I was too stunned at the time to truly commit them to memory). It was at this point I realized the horrific humor of it all. I swallowed my stunned silence, and told him my grandfather had died. He nodded, might have given me his condolences, I honestly don't remember, and then I carried my grandfather, tucked away neatly in a cardboard box, out to my car. I must admit, he was fairly heavy for such a box, although not unmanageable. I chatted with him amiably enough, still trying to get over the whole idea of "Oh my God I'm carrying my grandfather he's in a goddamn box oh Jesus what the #$%&". I placed him on the passenger seat, belted him in (oh yes, I sure as hell did - I was NOT about to have him spilling about my car; I'm damned enough in my life, no need to make it any worse), and apologized profusely for what I was about to do. Then, I started my car up, cranked up the stereo, and tried to forget it all, the whole long (even though it's less than 3 miles round trip, it felt much, much longer) trip back to the shop. I walk in carrying a box, and the guys start saying something about it. I walk upstairs, press onward into my father's office, and place the box on the table in front of the microwave. He turns around and gets up, thanking me for going (as usual), and then sees the box. He asks "What's that?" It was at this point that I simply had to smile to myself a little. Ah, how life works in such mysterious ways. All I could reply was "Grandpa." He looked at me sort of funny, and then looked at the box closer. It was then he realized I was being serious, and not just pulling his leg. We shared a few estranged silences, broken by some awkward "Well gee" sort of words, and then it was back to business as usual.
Yes indeed, life works in mysterious ways, and if ever I needed a reason NOT to get cremated when I pass, that day gave me more than I'll ever need. Even if it would be priceless to see the look on MY grandson's face when he comes to get the mail, and ends up taking me back with him.
'Cause, you know, that #$%& is funny. Even if it's a little morbid.
I honestly can't say one way or the other in terms of a trend. I can say that when my grandfather passed this winter, he was cremated, and a service will be held sometime this spring or summer (interesting story about that, actually). Part of this certainly was convenience, but more that of his wife, my grandmother, than the rest of the family. They had only gotten back to their home in Florida a few months prior, and so she was already financially and mentally drained. I think it was much more to do with energy and well-being than financial, to be sure. My grandfather was never an easy man to live with, and he was a great deal of work to handle in his later years, as his body slowly but surely gave out. She stuck by him to the end, though; no nursing home for him, except for a few brief visits for post-care.
On the other hand, I live right down the street from the town cemetery (where my sister is, as you put it, interned). I still see plenty of funerals being attended there, in the ways of old. Mind you, we're talking a handful a year that I actually witness, but there's at least that many more that I don't see, or that I only see the freshly turned earth. It's a small town, with a small cemetery, and people aren't dropping like flies, but even so, I still see funerals. It helps that the funeral home is just a couple hundred feet further away, and we have a whole slew of churches in town, with... 3 - 4 within walking distance of where I live.
As for me, personally, I'm not sure how I feel about rotting away in the ground. I'd like to romanticize it by thinking of it more as "returning to the earth from whence I came", but really, the grim truth is I'll be rotting away in a box. Not very "returning to earth" if I do say so myself. On the other hand, I kind of like the thought of lying in a bed of sorts, although the idea of being nailed shut in a box isn't all that thrilling, either. I certainly don't want to be cremated, though. If I am to turn to ash, let me turn to dust beforehand. Besides, I definitely don't want to be stuck in a metal pot, displayed like some trophy around the relatives' houses.
I've always found peace in cemeteries. I love them, for a variety of reasons. I've always been given solace and comfort by them, and because of that, I want my survivors to have the same. So in all likelihood, I will be buried in the earth, likely next to my sister (the difference in casket size would be morbidly amusing). The only other thing I can think of is a true Viking funeral, but again, I'm not sure if I can truly romanticize the idea of my death enough to actually want something like that. Besides, there is something to be said for going to the earth whole. Not to mention that, as much as I love being on the sea, sailing, what-have-you, I am not much of a sea-farer, at least in terms of being IN the water. Still... I could see myself going for a Viking funeral. I suppose part of that would be whether or not my father has one when he passes (which will no doubt be many years from now).
Since we're on such a morbid topic, here's a little humorous diddy to bright your day. I work for my father, in town, and we both have boxes at the local P.O., along with our service manager (automotive repair). Generally, either myself or my father will go and gather the mail each day, Monday through Friday. On one particular day, just like any other, my father suggests it's a good time to get the mail. I grab his key, along with our service manager's, and head out. I gather the mail from all three boxes, and find a card in my father's for a pick-up at the counter. I casually wait in the short line to deliver the notice, hand over the card and patiently wait for them to bring it to me. Out comes this good-sized (not huge, but not small, either) box. He places it on the scale as he does his little routine for the paperwork. As he's doing this, and I'm wandering around in my own thoughts, he looks up at me and says "Who died?" At this point, I'm rather perplexed. My grandfather has passed, very recently, but there's no way he could have known that, and yet here he was asking me. So I give him a querying look, to which he responds by pointing at the side of the box - where it stated, in large undeniable letters, "cremated remains", or something to that effect (somehow, I've managed to forget the exact words - I think I was too stunned at the time to truly commit them to memory). It was at this point I realized the horrific humor of it all. I swallowed my stunned silence, and told him my grandfather had died. He nodded, might have given me his condolences, I honestly don't remember, and then I carried my grandfather, tucked away neatly in a cardboard box, out to my car. I must admit, he was fairly heavy for such a box, although not unmanageable. I chatted with him amiably enough, still trying to get over the whole idea of "Oh my God I'm carrying my grandfather he's in a goddamn box oh Jesus what the #$%&". I placed him on the passenger seat, belted him in (oh yes, I sure as hell did - I was NOT about to have him spilling about my car; I'm damned enough in my life, no need to make it any worse), and apologized profusely for what I was about to do. Then, I started my car up, cranked up the stereo, and tried to forget it all, the whole long (even though it's less than 3 miles round trip, it felt much, much longer) trip back to the shop. I walk in carrying a box, and the guys start saying something about it. I walk upstairs, press onward into my father's office, and place the box on the table in front of the microwave. He turns around and gets up, thanking me for going (as usual), and then sees the box. He asks "What's that?" It was at this point that I simply had to smile to myself a little. Ah, how life works in such mysterious ways. All I could reply was "Grandpa." He looked at me sort of funny, and then looked at the box closer. It was then he realized I was being serious, and not just pulling his leg. We shared a few estranged silences, broken by some awkward "Well gee" sort of words, and then it was back to business as usual.
Yes indeed, life works in mysterious ways, and if ever I needed a reason NOT to get cremated when I pass, that day gave me more than I'll ever need. Even if it would be priceless to see the look on MY grandson's face when he comes to get the mail, and ends up taking me back with him.
'Cause, you know, that #$%& is funny. Even if it's a little morbid.
Roland *The Gunslinger*