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A Day for the Dead –
Now Get on With Your Life!
Translation by Bob
Meier
“Ashes or
underground?” the attendant questions as he lifts his oversized
head off the cash register keys. “Oh, I’m sorry; ashes, most
definitely ashes for him.” a teary eyed and blurry silhouette of
my wife Dolores offers as she stares down at my frozen face.
I could sense the kids breathing down on me
as well. I figure Dolores recruited them to help get me out of
the van and push my cold and clammy body up thru the checkout
line. I bet they never expected such a miserable tragedy at
their age.
A crew-cut boyhood friend of mine once told
me that second hand exposure to death was a sure fire passage
into adulthood. There’s no more going back to the routine life
of a teenager where your only worries are what to wear, who to
date and what to drive. At least I can offset the harsh reality
of my death by my belief that most adults in the 21st
century are on the same maturity level as a teenager anyway.
Christ, I never expected this to happen to
me! How many people do you know that finally hit their stride;
finding the passion, happiness, health and love in their life
and then end up going down in flames, crashing and burning, the
victim of a defective carnival ride? With my family medical
history I always expected that I’d be taken out by heart disease
or some terrible crippling illness that left me confined to a
bed and an IV drip, not by circumstances that would render me a
4-line mention in the News of the Weird column.
“Hmm, any coupons or member discount cards
today?” the freckled faced kid with the big head asks in a
sleepy voice. Dolores struggles to flip me over to one side so
she can reach into my back pocket and pull out my billfold. A
business card, some gas receipts, and a ride ticket float to the
ground as she slowly pulls out my organ donor card. “Just this
card, I suppose”, she replies as she flips it across the
counter.
The freckle faced kid with the humongous
head and a nose ring picks up the microphone and calmly states
over the public address system, “ Pickup, register 23 – Filet
and Deep Fried”. I’m busting a gut laughing sarcastically
inside; will they serve me with fries and a drink, some kind of
value meal?
“Where are you going to take him?” Dolores
questions with a shrug.
“Oh, just back to the purple room to be
processed. It’s perfectly painless you know, at least for
someone in his condition.” our friend reads off a 3 by 5 index
card.
I’m rendered speechless. It’s all come
down to this, my final exit made at a Funeral City, the local
funeral arrangement and party planning superstore? Will anyone
come forward to speak in my defense, save me from this
humiliation?
Finally, I begin to sense some movement in
the right direction when my oldest, Girdy gets right in the face
of freckles and shouts, “Hey, wait just one minute here!” While
I’m waiting for her to reach out and slug him for serious
insensitivity infractions, she blurts out “We also need this
obituary in a box” as she hands it over with a flirtatious smile
and adds, “Would you mind showing me how it works?”
Jesus Christ! This kid could end up being
my future son-in-law. I can picture him now, having sex with my
daughter next to some tacky vase or wooden box holding my
unsettled remains on the nightstand. I’m struggling to voice my
disbelief. I’m so relaxed and at peace, about all I can muster
up is enough energy to swing the neon sign overhead promoting
Funeral City’s $79.95 Memorial Service special
As they cart me off to the back I faintly
hear a conversation with my Dolores, “ Please head over to our
relaxation room, where you can have Michael Jackson or Elton
John record a special tribute to your husband. “How does that
work?” Dolores asks. “Simply punch in the name of your deceased
and…” Everything just fades to black from there. How
appropriate.
I wished I had planned ahead. You know,
documented arrangements for the proper burial and funeral
service in advance. I never thought much of the traditional
service. With all of the options presented to us in life, why
limit ourselves to one or two options on our final exit? Let’s
face it this is the last time anyone will make a public fuss
over you unless of course you are distinguished enough to have
your own holiday. Even if that happens, it’s really just
another day off of work, a sale at the mall, a boulevard named
in your honor or perhaps a parade if you’re lucky. No one will
remember what you did other than a headline or two and your
name.
What ever happened to spreading my ashes
off the top of Mt. Everest? The chilling thought of my family
risking their lives as they painstakingly head toward the
summit. Today you can have your ashes express mailed overnight
for $12.99.
What happened to playing Pink Floyd’s
Comfortably Numb at my funeral as my smiling guests pass joints
from aisle to aisle? Today you can have your funeral broadcast
on the Internet so family members and friends can watch from
work on their lunch hour.
And what happened to the instant rewind of
my life, as I lay limp struggling with my last few breaths? I
expected my entire life to unfold in reverse order very quickly;
a virtual highlight reel of my defining moments and
accomplishments.
The speech I gave to the Knights of
Columbus, my job as a college radio DJ, my first job out of
college on Wall Street, my wedding ceremony, the birth of the
kids, the type of memories that are captured on video and
pictures, trapped in dusty shoeboxes and shoved in desk drawers.
No, it wasn’t like that at all. My life
did unravel before me, but It was the simple, the eloquent, the
type of memories that appeal to the senses, the ones that mean
nothing to anyone other than yourself.
My Mom getting ready for work, in the bathroom listening to
James Taylor singing “You’ve got a friend”.
My Dad returning home from the bakery and corner store on
Sunday morning with hard rolls, chocolate milk and an assortment
of comic books.
My big sister interrupting my 1st grade class so
she could sneak me a piece of candy that I sat on with guilt for
3 long hours.
The taste of sweet
kisses, from my wife as we stopped to kiss in the hardware
parking lot on our first date.
The times when the kids and I would sing and dance around the
house like we were in some off-Broadway family musical.
The afternoons lounging on the beach, drinking daiquiris,
reading books, listening to the rhythm of the ocean and wishing
I were a wave.
This unfolding of events has given me new
hope and meaning in the afterlife. If I could channel a message
from beyond it would be for others to cherish the simple things
in life, record the ordinary, pay attention to that which is
often overlooked, the stuff that leaves us with a powerful
feeling later on.
Oh, and most importantly don’t forget to
jot down your funeral arrangements and make them known to a
trusted friend or loved one.
Often
Overlooked
Looking directly into the faces of others as they pass you by
Doing something helpful, insightful, and hopeful without
looking for gratification or someone standing by to take notice
Walking across a field
or through the woods instead of taking the paved path
Leaving the watch behind and arriving when it just feels
right
Falling down and deciding that the view from the ground is
much more revealing then life viewed standing up
Dancing at inappropriate times when the only music playing is
that created in the moment of movement
Rising above the knot in your stomach and laughing at what
you most fear
Simply recognizing those who have touched your life
Listening to someone, asking childlike questions with a
genuine curiosity
Scanning the nighttime sky for never ending possibilities
Look hard, I’m floating up
there somewhere
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