February 22, 2009

Morbid Marital Musings

Me: I had to ask your father a series of questions. He wants to go to XYZ Funeral Home because Price is closed. (See below post...)

Husband: Really?

Me: I frickin' HATE XYZ funeral home. I hate it.

Husband: Yeah, I remember.

Me: NO. I need to reclarify. I HATE IT. It smells, its dark... its cheap feeling. If I die, you are NOT to send me there. I don't care if every family we know goes there. DO NOT SEND MY BODY THERE.

In my mind, there are two types of funeral homes. Actually, there may be more, but in particular, this has been my experience.

There are the high end funeral homes, that try hard to make it feel like home, even though it really can't, and there are the funeral homes that TRY to appear high end, but either didn't have the cash to go high end or had a crappy designer and ended up with a feel of cheap high end on the cusp of brothel.

There is nothing like the feel of walking into a funeral parlor and wondering if they turn tricks there at night... or if they just shared the same decorator as the local whore house... if there was a local whore house.

Husband: OK... where do you want to go then?

Me: I'm working on it. I'll get back to you...

He doesn't even blink after these conversations anymore, we've had them so many times. Death is always at my door in the form of someone I know.

When my girlfriend, J, died of Leukemia, some of you may remember that he had to endure my telling him even what dress to put me in.

My body doesn't fit into that dress anymore.

He and I need to talk again... more in depth.

Posted by Boudicca at February 22, 2009 08:26 PM | TrackBack

That's not a fun conversation to have... well, not normally, anyway. My husband and I, on the other hand, have a solemn agreement on what to do if I cross the bridge before him. We're both fans of the old British sci-fi comedy series called Red Dwarf. In keeping with the very first episode of Red Dwarf, Rick is to have my body cremated. Then the leftovers are to be divided in half... one half goes with my best friend Cindy to Fiji, where she is to scatter it as she sees fit and then spend a month on the beach with fruity drinks and hot pool boys. If I can't go there in life, I'll at least get to visit afterwards. The other half is to be used the next time the sidewalk in front of our house ices over.

It's always a comedy with us, but I have told him that I am quite serious about this. LOL

Posted by: GradualDazzle at February 22, 2009 09:18 PM

I have been trying to get Mr Weenie to have this talk with his parents, I think he feels (as most people) that if he doesn't talk about it that it won't happen.

I think I am going to have to have the talk with them myself, because I don't want to be stuck when it does happen with trying to figure out not only what they want but where all their important papers and such are.

Posted by: Quality Weenie at February 23, 2009 09:23 AM

One thing I have decided ... no pantyhose. Although the image of trying to stuff a limp body into a pair of pantyhose is kind of comical. On second thought ...

Posted by: PeggyU at February 23, 2009 04:08 PM

Heh- just today Girlie and I had the conversation!

Me- When I die, I want to be cremated...no funeral...just a party. Oh- But I do want my ashes to be put in a recyclable container and then have a police escort drive around town- at least ONCE this place is going to stop for ME!

Girlie- Sure mom. No tupperware. Got it.

Posted by: Rave at February 23, 2009 07:46 PM

Cremation....its what our whole family has chosen for the last 30/40 years.

Dad Anthony's ashes lie in Cabin Creek and in the Columbarium of "All Soul's Walk" at the Cathedral of St. John in the Wilderness.

My irreverent brother took about two tablespoons, had a friend load the remains into 12ga shotgun shells. On New Years eve, at the stroke of midnight, in the San Luis Valley...Dad was launched high into that cold, starbright midnight sky he loved so deeply.

I can guarentee that there were alcoholic beverages consumed.


I dispise most of the funerary "industry" and the open casket funeral is, to this ol' cowpoke, an abomination of a sacred life. The flesh is dead. Its an empty shell!!!! And to paint it up in order to approximate life is heretical.


Posted by: Sven in Colorado at February 24, 2009 04:54 PM