Dying on the Seven Year Plan


So, everyone’s gonna die. Big deal, right?

I’m convinced I’m on the seven year plan. That means, at least between my husband and I, I have a good seven years left before I bite the dust. Speaking of which…..

Disposing of the body. I’m not talking “Big Blue Barrel” here. I’m talking about the traditional options: Being buried in the ground, or cremated….or you could be stuffed, but we’ll leave that option to animal lovers who have a fetish with stuffed animals – primarly with their dead pet.

I’ll throw a curve ball into the options. I have to hand it to South Korea with the option of making your cremated remains into beads. Due to their shortage of places to bury the dead, they came up with the idea to make cremation beads that look like gems, aren’t made to be into jewelry, yet put into a bowl or a jar so that everyone can enjoy their deceased in beauty. This is a great idea because frankly, there aren’t a whole lot of really good looking people out there, and turning them into gems would be a plus, don’t ya think? Additionally, it would be a great weight loss program. Look! I went from a size 22 to a good looking bead! Weight Watchers can’t compete with that.

Let’s face it – lots of people’s ashes end up in an urn in a closet….or on a mantle. Why would you place someone’s ashes on a mantle? Your home needn’t turn into a shrine to mourn your loved one. My husband wants his urn to have googly eyes with springs on them……

This, I will not keep on my mantle.

It would definitely go in the closet. Behind the hamper. Underneath clothes I haven’t worn in 5 years. It’s just creepy – he thinks it would be funny.

However, we did agree that both of us would be cremated. I can’t stand the fact that my bones would be wasting space for the sake of building a strip mall or a new Hooters. And, what happens if they don’t identify my grave properly? My family (if anyone would care to visit my grave site), may mistakenly be visiting some old Greek woman who died with a baboushka on her head while crossing the street (against the light, I might add), which caused her demise.

I look at this way: My soul is the essence of who I am. My body is a mere container to hold my soul within. When I die, my body can be burnt into ashes and I’ll wait patiently in a closet gathering dust, while my husband lives out his golden years paying people to push him in his wheelchair. I just hope no one forgets about me in the closet when he dies because the deal is we go together.

Our kids know our destination spot in order to carry out our wishes. I’m not sure they can get their act together in order to accomplish this, but I’ll have to trust my kid to honcho the effort so Dave and my ashes can be strewn together, and hopefully not in anyone’s faces, but rather allowing the winds of the Hawaiian Islands to let us fly upward (or downward), depending on the weather – together. Hopefully, the boys will have enough sense to have the winds at their backs and not in their faces or else it could get messy.

Fortunately, we’ll already be together…maybe. I’m certain he’ll visit Hell before he’s allowed to enter the pearly gates. Or maybe I will have to have tea with Satan before I’m allowed to enter the pearly gates. Whichever it is, we’ll always be together whether he likes it or not.

If he doesn’t, I’ll kill him.

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One thought on “Dying on the Seven Year Plan

  1. The cool thing about the seven-year plan is that it renews annually. Case in point, my girlfriend’s parents are in their mid eighties. When she asked them at New Years if they had anything scheduled for the month of January, her father reached for a calendar and said, “Just last week I put together a new five-year plan.”
    When the time to make room for somebody else comes, I plan to have my ashes sprinkled from a balcony on Bourbon Street at the height of Mardi Gras.

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