Or If My Ashes Scatter On The Wind, I Don't Care

Yesterday, when I woke up, I thought about taking my son to visit my grandmother. Then I remembered that it was urn shopping day. Much as I wanted to see Grandma, I did not want to shop for an urn. Later, my mother informed me that she put Grandma's funeral on her credit card. Neat. It had been a family affair. Mom, Aunt Vicki, Grandpa and Grandma had all piled into the car and gone urn picking.

Grandma was there because she isn't dead.

Dying, yes. But aren't we all? It's true that her death will, in all probability, occur sooner than the rest of ours, she's been battling lung cancer for longer than anyone thought possible. But it still gives me the willies to think about urn shopping.

This prompted a discussion with my husband (who is adamantly opposed to cremation for his own self) about where we would want to be laid to rest. It's a little bit of a pickle, you see, because Troy loves the northwest and I love California. In any case, Troy determined that if I should die young, he would put me in a wall so that I could be easily transported in case he and Garrett moved. He thinks I should be nearby so Garrett can visit me. To this I informed him that he would absolutely need to cremate me. How gross is it to think about moving day otherwise.

Troy: Got all your toys?
Garrett: Check.
Troy: Clothes?
Garrett: Check.
Troy: Mommy's casket?
Garrett: Yep, I saw the movers put her in the van, right by a box marked kitchen.
Troy: Then I think we're good to go. Hop in, sport.

Troy rolled his eyes and said that there are people who specifically move bodies from one place to another. Sounds pricey. And still. If he's going to transport my remains all over the country, I'm goin' urn all the way.

But do NOT keep me on the mantle. No sir. Scatter me over Tahoe or go all crazy kamikaze during the middle of a Broadway show, sprint across the stage waving and flinging my remains and screaming, "Now she's on Broadway!" Or, if my son really needs to pay his respects to my actual self, put me in a wall with a little plaque. But if any of my four loyal readers discovers that my husband put me on the mantle...get a court order to have me removed. I don't want my ashes and dust kicking it in the living room. Ew.


Kind of reminds me of a Rich Mullins song:
Well, if they dressed me like a pauper
Or if they dined me like a prince
If they lay me with my fathers
Or if my ashes scatter on the wind I don't care
But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars
Well, It'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye

I guess, where my life is concerned, I really don't care. Other than, I'd kinda like to go out like Elijah.