Death Wishes

“It’s part of the privilege of being human that we have our moment when we have to say goodbye.” — Patti Smith

Let’s just kick this off with a disclaimer, in no way is this meant to be morbid. I have no plans of dying anytime soon and even celebrated my 42nd birthday twice last year (I’ve decided henceforth-and-forever-more to celebrate on June 30th rather than December 30th; though I will forever be a Capricorn).

Managing an estate, planning a funeral or memorial service all while grieving is simply too many things. And on top of that devastation, the regulatory landscape around wills and probate court and taxes add an additional layer of frustration. So, I’m leaving clear and easy instructions for some of the less serious things I want post-life. This is meant to be a responsible and thoughtful gesture.

First and foremost, even though I was raised Catholic, I really do not want a funeral in a Catholic church. Since reading about Quaker death services, I’ve liked the idea of gathering simply and giving anyone present the opportunity to share a story or reflection rather than the pressure of a single loved one preparing a eulogy. So please do that. My hope is that people will share happy and funny stories that will delight my friends and family.

I’d like this reflective (and hopefully joyful and funny) gathering followed up with a party. Because, above almost all else, I like parties and knowing that everyone is fed. Preferably this entire event will happen at an outdoor potluck on a warm, sunny, summer day. Summer is my favorite. If this could happen at a park where there are grills and flowers and space for people to lay in the grass or play tag or bocce, even better. No need to wear black, unless that’s your favorite color. Come as yourself.

Please cremate me. Bring my ashes to East Beach in Rhode Island on a night following a painfully hot summer day. Ideally, this is a night when you can see Orion, Cassiopeia and the Big Dipper shining brightly in the cloudless, moon-lit sky. Swim out past where the waves are breaking and release me under the water. This will unite my corporeal remains with some of my mom’s. Whoever is doing this is welcome to wear a bathing suit (rather than underwear) and does not need to be drunk (like I was). Most importantly, bring two life-long friends with you. They need to be friends who see you genuinely and without judgement. They do not need to have known me.

Do not be precious about my things. Stuff is just stuff. If there’s something useful or that you’re particularly fond of, then please keep it. There’s no need for anyone to be the steward of all my things and move them time and time again in obligation to my memory. I’m happy to live on in your heart and memory rather than your kitchen cabinets, or worse in a basement Rubbermaid bin.

Speaking of my stuff, please bring all the boxes of photos, which will be sorted by era (childhood, college, little kids, etc.), to my memorial services so people can take ones they’re in or that they like. Maybe please also bring the letters and postcards and journals in the box above the pictures and use them to make a bonfire. There are hundreds of letters from my mom, Catherine, Lindsay, Becca and Alicia with small sprinklings from other people who’ve peppered my life. I like the idea of using them to make a fire that adds warmth and ceremonially releases all the good, loving energy contained in their words.

Much to his chagrin, Brendon knows all my passwords, or at least the combination of things that make them up. Hopefully, he’ll be around to provide those to whomever needs to close out all of my accounts. Or maybe by the time I die, there will be some new way of keeping all that information that is much easier to figure out.

Please empty the top dresser drawer and the contents of my purse (other than the cash, cards and gift cards) directly into the trash. Thank you.

If I have pets when I die, please find someone who will take good care of them. Somone who will talk to them and hug them a lot, because that will likely be what they’re used to.

I will also probably have plants when I die, and I hope that whoever inherits them will water them and talk to them, too.

According to the law of conservation of energy, energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transferred from one form to another. I don’t believe in heaven or hell or purgatory or reincarnation, but I hope that a little bit of my energy is absorbed into each of the people I loved and that I become an ever-present hug for the rest of their days.

Happy living, dear readers.