Intro Notes
I'm slowly getting used to this blogging thing. Obviously after looking a t last week's posting, I will have to be more careful about the font sizes I use for headings. It ended up looking like a title on steroids.
This week's column is one that I have always been particularly proud of, even if my wife says I can't do what I am suggesting in it. The folks at the Leacock Awards called it 'the funniest article on funeral planning ever written."
A Few Words From The Great Beyond
Before people start sending her notes of congratulations for finally getting rid of me, I should point out that I am not planning to leave this mortal toil anytime soon. I hope I still have a couple score and ten to go.
I realize that this is a bit of a morbid topic, but it’s been on my mind lately. In the past two months I’ve lost two friends to cancer. One was 52 and the other was 69. Both were much too young to go. I know that both Rick and Jeri would much rather be remembered with laughter than tears.
Perhaps you might think that my wife is just showing her desire to keep me around when I say she doesn’t want to attend my funeral, but that has nothing to do with her recent proclamation. She just doesn’t want to be there if my wishes for the way it should be presented get followed.
Diane thinks I should be satisfied with a simple, respectable service to be held sometime after she has had my remains reduced to a little box of ashes. Now I ask you, especially those of you who have been reading my column for several years, does that sound like the sort of funeral I would want?
Of course not.
Whenever I read reviews of my writing, they tend to include words like, ‘irreverent,’ ‘sardonic,’ and, ‘Dad, you are so weird.’ Since I’ve spent the better part of my life living up to those standards, I think it is only to be expected that my funeral should follow the theme.
If it does, Diane says she won’t be there.
Apparently, the thing she really objects to is my desire to have a motion detector hidden in my coffin and attached to a tape recorder with my voice greeting the people who come up to look into the coffin. There are lots of things I could say to the people to lighten up the moment:
“Hi there. How ya doin’?”
“Hey! You made it. Thanks for coming.”
“How are you? Probably better than me, eh?”
“This list they have here says you’re going to drop in next Wednesday.”
“Boy is it hot here, but at least it’s a dry heat.”
“Would you mind scratching my nose?”
“Wanna see the scar where they harvested my organs?”
With a little work, I could even have special greetings for certain people:
To editors: “Sorry, I seem to be having trouble filing this week’s column from here. Why don’t you come and pick it up?”
To certain relatives who know who they are: “So this is what I had to do to get you to come for a visit.”
To certain other relatives who probably wouldn’t recognize themselves: “No, you can’t take home all the donuts.”
To doctors: “Is this what you meant by ‘learn to live with it?’”
To my wife: “OK, so how are you going to get the roasting pan down from the top shelf now?”
I think doing something like this would definitely put the “f-u-n” in funerals. People who don’t have any memories of my arrival would certainly never forget my departure. I really don’t want people standing around with sad faces and bemoaning the fact that I’m gone. I’d much rather be remembered with laughter and surprised reactions, just like I’ve given everyone while I’ve been alive. What could be an easier way to give them a little of both than having my disembodied voice emanating from my ‘disemvoiced’ body?
Diane would much rather see me have a dignified memorial service. Okay, so what isn’t dignified about sharing a few final words with those I leave behind? She’d have me cremated before my body even had a chance to be put on display. She thinks that would quash the idea of including a motion detector and tape recordings of my voice. Perhaps we could modify one of those fake taxidermy fish that start singing “Take Me To The River” whenever anyone walks past. My urn could have me saying things like:
“Hey! It’s dark in here.”
“Whew! That was some heat wave, wasn’t it?”
“I guess I finally made a real ash of myself this time, didn’t I?”
“See; I told you most of my weight was just water retention.”
I’m not sure why Diane is so opposed to this idea. Perhaps she figures that by the time it comes around she will have heard enough from me to last her the rest of her lifetime.
I’ll show her. If she doesn’t let me have a little fun at my funeral I just won’t speak to her again.
****
This story can be found in Gordon Kirkland's second book,
the 2005 Stephen Leacock Award of Merit for Humour winning,
Never Stand Behind A Loaded Horse
Use this link to order a copy:
