CHECKING OUT! REFLECTIONS OF A LIFE AND THE MANNER BY WHICH WE CHOOSE TO DEPART

"As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being." - Carl Jung  I've always had a curiosity about death and dying ever since my sister (pictured left) died when I was twelve.  Her name was Ariane and she was ten and died from a rare stomach cancer that took her after two surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy which lasted almost two years.  I stood at the entrance way to the crematorium and watched as her coffin, atop metal rollers, made its way into the chamber where it would meet the sun and return as warm ash and bone bits in a coarse burlap bag atop a mechanism that resembled an antique hand held coffee grinder. As the giant doors of the chamber closed and the gas ignited, I could see one lick of fire a split second before the door sealed shut.  Since that day thirty-seven years ago this month, I have attended enough funerals, burials, memorials and stood by people who have died both in my presence and away. I have watched, as only a writer or a philosopher can watch, the transitions, noting the minutiae from one second of life to a frozen expression, lifeless, having transformed from an energy being into a stilled and silent empty vessel. This is not some maudlin curiosity on my part, but an extension of the ever burning question about life: "Why am I here and what does it all mean?" I still have no answer beyond fragmentary bits of illumination and some innate sense of a reason beyond the boundaries of human comprehension. What stands out for me, as part of the death ritual, is the gruesome salesmanship that turns the grief of a family into an exercise in commercial investment - the funeral.  Now do not misunderstand me when I slam this concept; I am not against funeral directors or services; there are some people who need to be guided and frankly, they are as organized during this difficult time as anyone could hope. My issues lie with the overall concept of death and funerals and the grandiose coffins and trappings that serve no one but the seller of the items. Honestly, the point of burial is to return to the earth the body so that in the process of decay, that which can be recycled by nature is recycled. Preserving the body for as long as humanly possible involves harsh chemicals that are not earth friendly, and for what purpose?  Even worse, grandiose coffins that are hermetically sealed and could serve as space capsules further delay this process while vastly inflating the price of a burial, a price the family is stuck with. In my teen years I read a book by Jessica Mittford called The American Way of Death, an expose of what really happens when you die, the organizations that handle your final departure and even what the law says about embalming and other post-life activities that are abuzz around funerals and cremations. You can click HERE if you would like to check it out or buy a copy. It is an excellent book. My sister was cremated because that was what my parents wanted. A tombstone would not serve to mark her life. The old "dust to dust, ashes to ashes," imprinted upon me that no cemetery plot would hold the memory of my sister; I would never sit there and talk to the grass while ignoring nature's disintegration happening six feet below, as I reflected the memories of a short life. And I was glad of that. I got to remember her as she was. Even the image in my mind of her stilled body in the hospital bed, certain, as I leaned over to kiss her forehead, that she moved, so badly did I wish for that. I got to turn the handle of the grinder that helped break up the remaining bits of bones that had made it through the disintegrating heat and got to feel the warm ashes sift through my fingers as we sprinkled her around a young sapling, imprinting in our minds her exact location and, on those few visits back, delighted in seeing the sapling grow into a tall tree; death to life and all of that symbolism. I have much Chinese in my heritage and as a boy delighted in the stories of the old Chinese wakes, where the deceased would lie on a table as those friends and family celebrated, as loudly as they could, enjoying food and drink and truly celebrating the life lost. Peppered in those conversations were tales of the body, in rigor, suddenly sitting up and scaring the crowd half to death themselves. It was real. Death is real. Death is not fake grass and velvet linings and tuxedos and words spoken by people who know not a damn thing about the deceased. Death is not about false compassion. Death is a door slammed in your face and if you are to go on, you need to recognize that death is just one aspect; life goes on within those left behind who will never forget until their own deaths, the million pieces that made up a life. What better tribute could there be to a life than that? I do not begrudge anyone their choice of funerals, whether simple or ritualistic, humble or extravagant. What I do begrudge is those who manipulate the guilt of those left behind, to prepare a lavish event under the guise that a simple funeral implies less of an affection for the deceased. That is crass commercialism at its worst. So recently, while listening to the Clark Howard radio show, and hearing him discussing a way that people can spare their families that added burden, it started me thinking again about life and death.  Howard suggested joining a funeral society, a non-profit collective that would be able to turn the average $9000 funeral into a $1000 funeral, simply by being a part of the group.  You can CLICK HERE for more on that. Why even $1000 I asked myself? The most meaningful funeral I have attended involved a pine box carried to the grave by family and friends, a hole that had been dug using a back hoe, words spoken and artifacts placed atop the simple coffin, which was then lowered into the ground by friends and family and the hole filled up by each taking turns with the shovel, getting dirt on their hands and clothes, but feeling that they had said a fitting goodbye.  One year later the family and friends returned to place a headstone, and again celebrate the life that was their loved one. It was simple, honest and emotionally rich. The deceased would have solidly approved. There was no embalming (great for Egyptians; not so great for everyone else) and no fake grass at graveside. There was no priest in elaborate funerary garb who knew nothing of the lost life, only those who had enjoyed a relationship. It was all legal. The Smithsonian.com featured a great article by a writer who had to bury his father and father-in-law within days of each other and how each was handled differently. Click HERE for a read.  The laws of the land are clear. Depending on your state you can find them easily. In a nutshell, in California, I do not need anyone to handle the remains of my deceased family member. I can contract with people if I choose, but I can do what I will. If I wish a simple burial in a simple pine box, I can do so. For burial, there are some restrictions on where you can be planted and the specifications for the grave, and all this information must be available for the record keeping process. Cremation is even easier, not requiring a coffin made of wood, but a cardboard container meeting funerary specifications; it all burns in the end. Click HERE for California laws on this. For state laws throughout the United States CLICK HERE I tease my children who, like most siblings, like to bicker, that if I get buried I will have one of those solar powered talking tombstones that has my pre-recorded voice telling them to stop fighting. That way I will get the last word. But in truth, I do not want them sitting graveside and talking to the dirt.  The memories of our time will live within them and if there is anything to be done with my remains it should be ash, burial at sea or something clean and simple at low cost. I'd do it myself if I could. In the end cemeteries get destroyed and dug up and moved, and records lost and scattered, and you can go to the Alameda Antique Swap meet (or any thrift store) and find photo albums of families dating back to the early 1900's that had been carefully assembled by someone now gone with the assumption that their descendants might like to have some history, only to have it discarded for whatever reason, and now available to anyone wanting to buy a family history for a few bucks. I find that sad.   Whenever I see one, I usually spend a few minutes flipping through the pages looking for notes, names or something that might identify a family that could be traced. I always wanted to find out why that little treasure had been abandoned. Usually, though, I just look at the faces, the joyful moments of life that had been captured, of a time and a place and a person now gone, and while I do not know their names or their life stories, celebrate their life by my interest, before they are relegated to the for sale pile once again. For myself, I collect old family photos of my family, tracing back where they came from and snatching fragments of their lives, enough to get a sense of a life in a time and a place I will never experience. The photograph to the left is part of the collection I have of my own family (you will see the Chinese clearly for those who doubted me.) I started this piece with "Why am I here and what does it all mean?" It means nothing more than I am here and for that time plan to share and live, feel, laugh and cry, succeed and fail, watch my own children through the joys and the struggles of their life as I age. And when that day comes, whenever that may be, it will have been enough. I want no grass above me. As much as I love science fiction, don't bother giving me the astral ride; it would be wasted. Instead, let me touch the fire of the sun and serve some young sapling that one day may grow tall and strong. And may my family celebrate the million stupid things I do than waste a dime for things I never cared much about. My sister lives on, as do those who went before her. MisterWriter PS: Our friend Rich sent me this - the philosophy in action. Click HERE to see why! PPS: See who is breaking the law HERE