I'm a sick, twisted man

The lovely and gracious BabelBabe wrote a very touching post on funerals and dying...previously, the lovely and gracious Badger had written sort of a "flipside" post concerning her Grandma, the legendary actress Joan Crawford. In his last days, I had conversed and e-chatted with the wonderful, lovely and gracious Poppy regarding her dad. This all sort of snowballs in my mind now that I look around and I realize my parents are Old People with not many new car purchases in their future. They are at the point where they are taking medications for every internal organ and one or two for unclaimed maladies. I know at some point they'll be among the absent. Yes, even my mom, whose shortest lived ancestor died at 96. At some point we hit our sell-by date.

While I'm not comfortable with their dying, I'm surprisingly at ease with mine. Of course, I'm not looking forward to checking out tomorrow or anything. But I'm OK with the fact I've got to get up and leave the room at some point.

But that, dear Internet, isn't about what I wish to write today. Both BabBab (indirectly) and Poppy (directly) have told me I must plan my own funeral. This is the part that upsets TFBIM who doesn't like to think of these things.

But hey, it's my funeral, right?

One the one hand, I want a full-on Grand Spectacle Catholic Funeral Mass. Latin, high church, incense...the complete yells/bells/smells. I also happen to like hymns like How Great Thou Art and Amazing Grace and Swing Low, Sweet Chariot...even if they don't "go" with that whole Anglican Rite-flavored Catholicism to which I groove mightily. I'll make it work somehow.

There will also be a dress code. I don't want anyone caught without proper attire, so people will be made aware of the details later. Suffice it to say, for once, men's black suits will be seen with approval. I mean, I will have a different vantage point from everyone else, but I'll approve. Details to ensue.

I also insist on writing my own obituary. I'm the only person who can get the details right and, besides, I may want to tell off someone for the last time. People have commented on my obsession for getting the last word in, and, well, one doesn't like to disapppoint one's public.

I want goodie bags at the burial (BabBab, ovah heah, Catholics lower you into the ground, but no dirt gets heaped with guests present) because it's rude to have people schlep from all over the place for you--and you not even greeting them--without a little something as a token of appreciation. Rest assured, I'm working on that.

At the wake, there will be hors d'ouvres passed out, and cocktails. All I ask is that people not overdo it at the open bar. First, I don't want whatever the inheritance is left (God knows I have fought the various levels of gummint to keep my money) to be adversely affected by mourning lushes, and second, I don't want people hungover at the burial. Sobbing's gotta be genuine, and not just because you have such a blinding throbber you can't see straight.

I also want a closed casket. Like bb, I'm all about privacy.

-J.