Today is my 59th birthday. Happy Birthday to me. Last Saturday, I attended a funeral. It’s getting a little close to home.
The only way for me to deal with death is to laugh. I hate death. I hate sadness. I don’t like crying. I don’t like being in a room with lots of sad people. So, I want to prevent that at my funeral.
Now, some may say it’s unlikely there will be much sadness at my funeral, but I’m trying to be optimistic.
I don’t want a preacher with a couple of readings and a generic homily with my name stuck in a few places.
I don’t want a “Celebration of Life” since that just means “boring-ass funeral.”
So, I want my services to be fun (or at least different.)
One of the interesting (or bizarre) aspects of cremation is that the ashes don’t have to end up in only one container. More than one of the bereaved can receive a portion of the deceased as a memento (“souvenir” seemed crass.) For an extra fee, you can have ashes sealed in a locket, so you can match your relatives to your outfit.
This has been discussed twice now, coincidentally at two different Italian funerals. This is why so many Churches in Italy have so many pieces of so many Saints. Divide and conquer.
I am planning to be cremated when my time comes, and hopefully not before. Since I am not a small person, there may be an excess of ashes. So, this is my last request, which my wife predictably refuses to honor.
Wait for my wife to be acquitted of my murder on grounds of temporary (or permanent) insanity.
Cremate me. First, put some microwave popcorn in my pockets so I have a snack while crossing the River Styx, then cremate me.
Divide my ashes into ten urns. There aren’t ten people who care enough to want a piece of me – again, see the Italians: “You wanna piece of me?” – but they’re not for people, they’re for pubs. They’re the stops on my progressive wake. A progressive wake is a pub crawl to the Hereafter.
Mark the urns:
- Trinity Hall
- Dubliner
- The Ginger Man
- The Old Monk
- Adair’s Saloon
- Lakewood Landing
- Meddlesome Moth
- Hillside Tavern
- The Londoner
- Flying Saucer
Deliver each urn to the appropriate pub. (I didn’t choose any outside the Metroplex or on a cruise ship, so this should be doable on an afternoon.) The delivery person might want to wrap the urn in a box and address to me, with a good tip to the bartender and a promise that it will be picked up quickly. This would probably be more acceptable than to ask, “Can we leave a small jar of dead guy here for a few hours?”
Now, you (my mourners) are ready to hold the progressive wake.
At my memorial service, hand each of the five or six people that show up a map with all the pubs marked. You could also show them the map at the bottom of this discussion, or give them a link to this page.
Call an Uber or two for the participants (don’t drink and drive!)
- Visit a listed pub.
- Bonus points for calling “Bring out your dead!” as you enter.
- Drink the suggested drink (see the map) – or whatever, it’s not like I’m there to judge. (Well, part of me is there, but I won’t judge.)
- Tell an amusing story about me. After a few drinks, just make something up.
- Collect the urn.
- Tip the bartender.
- Repeat.
Once all the pubs are visited and all the urns collected, return to the memorial service. Apologize to the hosts from the funeral home for the slight delay.
Record any eulogies that are given. If the participants followed the spirit(s) of the Progressive Wake, they may be good blackmail material or at least they will be funny.
Dump all the little urns into one big-ass urn. Have someone with allergies do this, so there will be some tears at the service, after all.
Bury me none on the lone prairie.
Progressive Wake
