I’m not dead yet

I received another correspondence yesterday from the funeral home that held Dad’s memorial service. This one was a reminder that they had not yet received a response from their last correspondence entitled: Personal Information for Future Reference, which roughly translates to those that are still living: What Do You Want To Have Written About You (In Your Own Words) When You’re Cold and Blue. Which is why I’m going to write a polite letter to the funeral home and ask that they stop sending mail to me. It’s depressing. I know the funeral home at which we held Dad’s memorial service. I don’t need a monthly reminder. I don’t want or need to pre-arrange my Future Reference.

For those of you who know me, know this: When my day comes, I want to be cremated. If there’s money / a crematorium involved, save the money and burn me yourself (you’ll have to get this expedited by the County Medical Examiner but buy him/her a fruit basket and just get it done).  Roast weenies over the fire, have some beers, play some Willie Nelson songs — have fun.  Sprinkle my ashes all over the world. That’ll give you an excuse to worry less about whatever woes you and allow you to travel the Earth.  Don’t mourn me, but celebrate yourselves and whatever influence I might have had.

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